


Inktober 2019

by LydiaLannister



Series: Inktober [1]
Category: Inktober - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: F/F, Inktober 2019, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-29 03:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 38,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20956151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaLannister/pseuds/LydiaLannister
Summary: Just my Inktober 2019 stories.  These range from 500-3000 words and were inspired by my own prompts.  I used images off of Pinterest.  The link is below:https://www.pinterest.com/stargazinnginthedark/writing/inktober-2019/





	1. Day 1-Knight

The flag waved cheerily in the wind; its bright colors almost a smack in the face against the grey backdrop of the sky. Tents were arranged on the field in neat rows and the arena was filled despite the chill in the air. The first round of the tournament was about to begin, and the knights were armoring up. Pages were scurrying about the narrow gaps between the flaps of the tents with a sense of duty and pretentious hurry, carrying leathers and spare swords. In the last tent there was no page bustling in and out of the plain cotton flap spattered with a fine layer of mud that came from the wear and tear of traveling with only a horse and one saddle bag. Preparing alone, the knight pulled on her gauntlets and slid her sword into the sheath by her side. Despite the poor state of her tent, her armor gleamed and shone in the cold winter sun peaking through the clouds.  
Making her way with quiet yet decisive steps, the knight strode through the clear path to the start of the tunnel that would lead her into the arena where she would prove her mettle. It did not seem to phase her even the slightest that she was competing first in a kingdom she had never been to before, against an opponent equally unfamiliar. This was just another game to her, another sparring match that she would win and move on from. Or at least, that’s what she had to tell herself.  
Tying her chin length golden hair back with a thin strip of leather, she slid her helmet on and closed the visor. The fidgeting page standing by the entrance gave her a quick hand motion and she began to stride forward. The harsh light at the end of the tunnel mixed with the dull roar of the nobles, dressed in their fine silks, and the villagers, in whatever their Sunday best was, did not bother her anymore. After all, she had done this a thousand times before. She would do it today again.  
***  
“I need my sword,” the young knight said to the flustered page standing before her. The page offered her a nervous shrug, before replying with a quick: “I’m afraid I haven’t seen your sword my lady. But perhaps one of the spare ones from the sparring rack will do?”  
“No, we’ve talked about this. I can’t just fight with a sword I’ve never trained with before. I mean, the balance will be all off and it’ll probably be a dull blade and… fine, just get me a sword, I’m supposed to be half-way down the tunnel by now.” The knight didn’t even bother to pull back her messy black curls and instead just jammed her helmet on as quickly as she could before grabbing the slightly-too-big-for-her sword from the page. Then with an exasperated huff, she hurried down the creaking wooden tunnel that would bring her face-to-face, or rather visor-to-visor, with her opponent.  
***  
The knight standing in front of her looked more like someone had taken a quivering beanpole from her mother’s garden and stuck it in armor. This would not be a fight; this would be a massacre and she would try and make it as swift as possible so as to keep the humiliation for the clearly new knight at a minimum. They both turned to face the King and then each other. She could practically hear her opponents visor clanking like a set of metal teeth chattering in the crisp winter air. A horn sounded and just like that the match had begun.  
***  
Watching the first fight from the small stand reserved for competitors, the knights eyed their opponents. Or rather, the bulky fighter on the left who swung their sword with an easy skill, the lanky knight on the right was barely managing to parry the harsh blows raining down relentlessly. It was less than a minute before the clanging ended and the knight on the right was de-helmeted, the winner proclaimed with a simple lifting of the sword and the next set of competitors ushered into the arena for an eager audience.  
***  
The first winner of the day looked sharp on the field, but the knight making her way hurriedly down the tunnel did not let these thoughts cloud her mind too much. She had to focus now, had to get a feel for the sword in her hand in the seconds before the blow of the horn that would signal the start of her match. She gave it a quick toss from one hand to the other and then back again, hoping that she had gotten a good enough gauge of its weight. She didn’t know just how dull it was, but that would soon reveal itself, so she brought it up quickly to block the first blow from her opponent.  
There was an awful screeching of metal on metal and then she pulled her sword back, side-stepping the next swing and coming around with her own blow. Her opponent was heavy footed and in a few nimble moves that they couldn’t follow she had their sword flying from their gauntleted grip and to the dusty arena floor.  
Their helm came tumbling down next to their sword and a moment later her hand was raised into the air-winner.  
***  
The same lanky page from before beckoned her in, the shiny armor now slightly dusty and her sword a little duller than the first match. She walked down the tunnel for the last time. The final match. The winning match. Her challenger, a small knight with armor just a little too big for her and a sword that she was fairly certain had come straight from the sparring rack. But despite the worse-for-wear equipment, the petite knight was a skilled fighter, taking on foes almost twice her size with ease and wielding the sword with a naturalness that almost matched her own. This would be an interesting fight. One that would perhaps give her cause to be worried. And at least one that would make her slightly less cocky in her win.  
***  
This time she didn’t worry herself with testing the weight of the sword or hurrying down the tunnel that almost seemed too short now that she had gone down it several times today. The light at the end taunting her, the thoughts of winning the tournament far from her tired body that only wanted to sink into the dust and rest. She had missed a blow in the last match, and it had struck her hard across her sword arm; a bruise was sure to be blooming there as she trudged down the hard-beaten track of winners and losers alike.  
There was a slightly longer fanfare this time, the King standing before them on his raised dais, signaling them to start. And just like that the first clang of blade on blade rang out. And a second. And then a third. The two of them matching each other blow for blow, step for step, move for move. When one of them tried to break the pattern the other one quickly followed in a swift and deadly dance. It was as if they were fighting on the same frequency, like their minds had been linked and they knew the others step before they took it. It didn’t even matter that they were of two very different statures. The brawny silver clad knight on left and the slight shadow mirroring her on the right. And then there was the unmistakable thud of sword against armor. The petite staggered back, falling out of the rhythm and nearly loosing her balance on the ill-fitting boots.  
Her sword was still firmly in her hand though, and so the match continued.  
A few more weak parries came from the dark knight, and surely the fight was coming to a close now, surely the strong blows from the burly knight on the left would knock the smaller one down and send the sword flying. But just as another blow came down, the younger knight made an almost unnoticeable switch. She caught her sword in her left hand and raised it with a newfound strength, meeting the strike with a strong parry. This match was far from over, and it was time she played her ace.  
Slightly taken aback by the sudden change in pace, the silver knight missed a few of the next moves. Luckily, she could take the brunt of the hits fairly easily and the two of them were back on the same beat within a few moments. Clashes rang out across the arena and everyone seemed to lean in more as the two fighters picked up their speed. A whirlwind of metal and armor, footwork and blocks, strikes and blows and side-steps. And then, in two sudden moves they stood facing each other, both sword-less. Each having disarmed the other in a move so fast that they both took another second to register what exactly had happened.  
Then, with both of their swords out of reach, they instead reached upwards. Removing their helmets, they faced each other.  
***  
The gasp that escaped her was almost as involuntary as the poof of black curls that sprung out from her head as she removed her helmet. She was looking up into the oh-so-familiar face of the one person she had never expected to see again. The blonde hair raggedly framed a stark face with icy blue eyes that had once looked upon her fondly. The lips were stretched into a thin line and hands clenched tightly at her sides. The stare was returned; and the taller knight looked down at the soft brown eyes she had spent more than one summer lying next to in the tall grass of their village. The bushy eyebrows and the full lips that she knew so well were parted in a soft oh.  
It had been years since they had last gazed into each other’s eyes, longer still since they had last shared a searing kiss like they did now. Their lips found one another with the ease and force of two magnets and their tongues reached out to meet each other as they threw their arms around each other in an embrace that had been long overdue.  
The arena was quiet, none daring to interrupt the reunion happening at its center. Until the King rose and began to clap, the rest of the audience joining him until there was a din so loud that the two knights could barely hear the clanking of their armor as they held each other. And as they finished reuniting, they turned to face the crowd. Raising their armored hands entwined with one another, they walked out of the tunnel, victorious together.


	2. Day 2-Giant

Children ran about the field with streamers flying from their hands in the wind. The whole village was strung with festive lights and the smell of fresh bread and candy filled every house. Everyone was preparing for the big party tonight; the harvest moon festival would be celebrated with dancing and the annual crowning of the moon queen. Laughter filled the alleys and the frolicking youth paraded around the streets.  
It seemed as if the whole town was in a state of happiness, but there was one person on the edge of the village who was not partaking in the festivities. Sharpening her knives, the young maiden sat tucked high in the branches of a tree on the outskirts of her village. She was on high alert, knowing that what was prowling out in the woods would ruin the festival if it made it past the walls. Tonight, was not just a sacred night for the town, but also the most dangerous evening of the year.  
Every single beast in the forest was out and their strength, like the moon, was at its height. And so, the maiden sat high in the trees with her arrow knocked in bow and the string pulled back tight. She scanned the foliage for movement, but so far everything had been quiet. The forest was silent; the only sounds coming from the laughing children behind her.   
Creak…Snap. In an instant she was on her feet, crouching on the branch with her bow drawn back. She could feel the wind whistling through her hair and the leaves rustled around her. The lazy atmosphere from before was gone in an instant; the children were still playing within the cocoon of the village walls, but outside something was lurking.   
***   
The little silver-haired being was tensed. Her small wiry body was on one of the lower branches of the oak tree, overhanging the silly village walls. She was the guardian of her people, and he was her guardian. Protecting her from the true evils of the forest and keeping the order between the weak and the strong, he watched her and when anything to dangerous for her to handle came near the flimsy wall, he took care of it with ease. She was the protector of her people and he would aid her how ever he could because her people were one of great curiosity to him. So delicate and fine, with tools that his enormous hands would never be able to wield and voices that could reach whisper tones his deep rumbling base could never achieve. These humans were gentle and free at heart, all except their fierce fighter.   
The bushes near the base of her perch began to shake and she turned her intense gaze downwards, catching a glimpse of a tail. Something feline prowled through the shrubbery and whatever it was she would have to take down with one swift shot. Taking careful aim, she drew the arrow back even further. He could hear her breath focus: every inch of her body still. The only movement was the soft rippling of her hair in the breeze.  
***  
The twang sounded awfully loud in the stillness of the forest and she flinched as the feline shape bounded easily away. Perhaps it would be enough to just scare it off? But that had never been enough, and it certainly would not be enough tonight given the state of the moon rising full above the trees. The large cat turned back, slinking along the side of the wall, its muscles rippling as it gracefully stalked along after some unseen prey. Too close, too close to the festivities and too close to the children who sometimes strayed away from the light of their homes. If the cat could climb or if it reached the hole a few hundred paces down the wall-no. There would be no if. The cat would not reach the hole and it would not make it halfway over the wall even if it tried. She would make this second shot count.  
Knocking a new arrow, she pulled back and fired.   
The arrow sank into the cat’s shoulder, eliciting a ferocious howl from the feline. She barely had time to utter a curse before two glowing eyes fixated on her. Though the cat was more than a leap away; it still made the leap in less than two bounds. The knife came too late, sinking itself in between the bright eyes just moments after the claws buried themselves in her stomach, tearing through her feeble leather armor and tearing into her delicate pink flesh. His cry came too late as well and all he could do was catch the falling form of his little guardian.  
***  
The bonfire was crackling and reaching higher and higher into the night sky. The children had been quieted and put to bed with more than enough sweets in their bellies. Only a few of the grown folk sat around the flames and spoke in lulled tones about the harvest and what crops had done well in the new fields. The evening was drawing to a close and many had already headed off to join their children in bed. But just before the last group of them could slip off, the giant stepped gently over their gate.   
And in his arms was the little protector wrapped in the giant’s handkerchief and her bow in hand. He set her gently at their feet and set the dead cat beside her, leaving with not a single word. Marching back out into the woods, he took up his place before the gate as sentinel. He would not fail the village again. Not like he had failed her.


	3. Day 3-Separated

The music was loud. And not just loud, no, this music was earsplitting, headache inducing, rave full of drunk people loud. So loud that even Apollo was having a hard time finding it enjoyable-and he was normally the one shouting at the DJ for it to be turned up. Tonight, said DJ was none other than the god of parties himself: Dionysus. And he was having himself quite the party.

  
Men and women were spread out on strip poles and tables like a buffet for all the hot and bothered Olympians and in between spread legs and scantily clad breasts there were fountains of wine-that Dionysus had most likely spiked with something harder.

  
Zeus was sitting at the front of the hall, looking rather amused with himself on his throne. A man was draped over one arm of his chair and a young woman knelt between his knees. It appeared that the king of the gods was having himself a good time at his son’s party. And it was always good if the king was happy. So, Dionysus kept playing his pounding baseline and the revelers kept dancing and twisting their bodies to its wild beat.

  
Among these gods and mortals were two maidens fair. One was dark, with skin like molten chocolate and hair that sprung in wild curls around an exquisite face, the other was dipped in honey, with flaxen gold hanging down to her hips and eyes like the sun. Neither one was much enjoying this celebration; both of them all too familiar with what would await them when morning came. Drunk gods and passed out mortals, wine and piss and other bodily fluids on everything, and a hungover Zeus. The latter of which was the main cause for their lack of joy. Because the king of the gods was always in a foul mood after one of Dionysus’s rages.

  
He would be tired and ill-tempered; the alcohol still taking some toll on his already severely impaired judgement. And there would be no one to take this discomfort out on except his two handmaidens. So instead of partaking in the merriment, they steeled themselves for what was sure to come.

  
***  
The light shone through the pillars, illuminating the colossal mess. Beer cups littered the cracked marble floor and the disco ball hung crookedly from the ceiling. The two girls shared an exhausted look and began their task of scrubbing fluids off the floor and shoving the various trash bits into the trash bags that both of them were holding. Zeus was still passed out on his throne, snores rising from his drooling mouth. The whole place looked worse than a frat house after the biggest bash of the year.

  
They worked until the Apollo and his cart were high in the sky and still the king of the gods was unconscious. Standing before the freshly cleaned hall they sat down, sinking to the floor and leaning their backs against a pillar. Both of them too exhausted to share any words; instead they intertwined their pinkies and allowed the small amount of contact to comfort each other. In the quiet of the hall and the exhaustion of the night before they dozed off, slipping into a slumber that would prove nearly deadly.

  
***  
“What in nine hells is going on here?!?” boomed a voice from above. The two girls woke with a start, but it was too late to do anything. Zeus raised his staff and pointed it at them.

  
“I have warned you about being lazy. I have told you that if I caught you two canoodling while on duty, I would curse you to the furthest ends of the heavens!” His fury confused the maidens. Had they not made the palace sparkling clean? Had they not done their duty? They turned to look about the hall and were shocked when it was just as dirty as it had been before they had spent hours toiling away. Slipping away behind one of the columns was a lithe figure-Atë. Of course, she was behind this. The young goddess could never stay away from the chance to make her father do something rash. Mischief was her specialty after all.

  
It would do them no good to protest against the enraged god. And when Zeus banished them, they could do nothing to stop it. Separated by the Earth and in the furthest reaches of the heavens, the sun and the moon-or rather the two young lovers-were eternally alone.


	4. Day 4-Disney

Anna was getting married. Today. To Kristoff, the ice maker. Elsa was not delighted. She was happy for her sister and Kristoff was a nice guy, much better than Hans at any rate. But she wasn’t delighted. Her sister was three years younger than her and still just a silly princess. She had no idea about anything that went on in the world and after last year’s fiasco Elsa just wanted to keep her sister close. Which meant, Kristoff whisking away her little sister on some cliché Honeymoon was not Elsa’s idea of an enjoyable summer.

  
The wedding also meant that hundreds -if not thousands- of nobles and peoples from other kingdoms. This meant that her powers would have to be under extreme control. The world knew about her gift and she had been able to reverse the winter, but that didn’t mean that she had perfect control all of a sudden. In fact, her control had almost gotten worse.

  
As she sat by the window, watching people stream through the gates, a thin layer of frost worked its way up the pane. Creating delicate patterns with spiderwebs of ice, she pondered her choices. She clearly couldn’t stop the wedding; her sister was in love and if she didn’t marry Kristoff then she might end up running off with someone even worse. She also didn’t want to just sit by and let Kristoff sweep her only family away. And then there was the part where Anna wanted her to be there: to sit on her throne and give her blessing for all the people to see. And the ice rink after the ceremony, that was all going to be Elsa too. But she didn’t want too.  
All she wanted was to run up into the mountains and make snow angels with Marshmallow and maybe drink hot chocolate later in her room. Yes, that sounded nice. And it sounded much more like her. But there was no way she could tell Anna that, at least not with out breaking her heart. So, she steeled herself for the day ahead of her and wiped the snowflake on the glass away with a quick gesture.

  
***  
The dress laid lovingly out before her was hideous. She knew that Anna had wanted her wearing something other than her ice blue gowns, and that was all fine and good with Elsa, but this dress was purple. And not a pretty purple either. It was the sort of purple that made her want to vomit, and that was saying something. Standing over the bed, weighing her options, she finally decided that she was already making so many sacrifices for her sister today; the dress at least could be hers.

  
Summoning the image in her mind of what she wanted her new gown to look like, she focused the ball of frost in her hand. She started the dress with the neckline, going for a more modest cut in the front and placing a deep cutout in the back, snowflakes crystallizing outwards from the harsh line. Then she went along her arms, ending the sleeves in her signature frosty peaks. Finally, she let the ice flow down her hips and end in a flaring skirt and as her final touch: a cape that was so thin that it looked almost transparent. Magnificent. Almost too much, she didn’t want to steal the attention away from her sister. But no, this dress was too good to pass up on, and besides, no one would ever outshine her sister: Arendelle’s sweetheart.

  
Looking in the mirror, she thought about what was missing. She had her glass slippers on, and the dress was perfect. Her scepter was awaiting her in the throne room and her hair was already in its intricate braid-courtesy of Anna. And then it struck her. Her crown.  
That would be an easy fix-and one she had performed on more than one occasion. With barely a thought wasted on the little diadem, she tucked it in her hair and left the room.

  
***  
“Do you, Kristoff, promise to protect, love and cherish Anna for the rest of your life?” the troll asked from somewhere near Elsa’s feet. Kristoff’s reply was a hearty yes and Anna blushed with joy. Then the troll turned his gaze on her.  
“Do you, Anna, princess of Arendelle, promise to take care of our fixer-upper? No matter how much fixing-up he needs?” Anna giggled at this and now it was Kristoff’s turn to blush, however, Elsa thought his blush was more out of embarrassment and not out of the giddy love rushing out of every single one of Anna’s beaming pores. Anna’s response came out even quicker than Kristoff’s. “Yes! A thousand times yes!”  
Internally Elsa rolled her eyes at her sweet little sister, on the outside, she kept smiling. And with those words and a light sprinkling of some sort of moss dust, the two love birds were married.

  
***  
The celebration put her coronation to shame. There were not one, but two chocolate fondues and the amount of salad plates had doubled. Also, the drapes were new and there were no Duke Weaseltons to be found anywhere amongst the reveling guests. Anna and Kristoff danced the night away in each other’s arms-the only exception was when Olaf took Anna for a quick spin that ended with his nose in one of the fondues. The ice rink was frozen over just right, and the fountains had been replaced by ice sculptures of the young couple. The stars twinkled bright above the happy dancers and Elsa watched them all from above, content to be on the sidelines of the party rather than in the thick of it.

  
Halfway through the second slow dance a figure walked up to Elsa, and at first the queen pulled an orb of ice to her fingertips. But as the shape came closer, she realized that it was a young woman, one of the partygoers. She looked exotic, different from the folks Elsa normally saw walking the streets, and her clothes were far nicer than those of the commoners. She must have been a princess from some distant shore-one who had made her parents’ journey more successfully.  
And she was beautiful. Her dark hair hung in rampant curls to her hips and nestled in them was a thick band of gold. In each ear was a delicate piercing, also filled with gold that went so well with her rich dark skin. Her dress was of two tones: a soft salmon on the bodice; with tight, three-quarter length sleeves, embroidered with more fine strands of gold; the skirt, which was full and softly pleated, was a deep orange; and the two were separated by a belt of more gold. As she stepped into the light, Elsa could see her face more clearly and found herself taken aback by the exquisite beauty she found there. Her lips were thick and full and dark red, her cheeks were soft, and her nose was delicate. And her eyes, her eyes were like molten chocolate filled with flecks of gold. Everything about this woman was enchanting, divine.

  
The young queen had to pinch herself just to see if this vision was really real. Never had she seen someone so breathtakingly beautiful in her entire life. Then the vision spoke, and her voice was like a heavenly song. Elsa was entranced.  
“Are you going to dance?” the woman asked. Then she extended her hand in an offer. The ice melted from her fingertips in an instant, and she took a tentative step forward.  
“Yes.”

  
And that was all the response the princess, or perhaps even queen, needed. She took Elsa’s hand and swept her away from the balcony. The music from below worked its way up to their patch of stone and they began to swirl around in a dance that was all at once familiar to Elsa.  
It had been years since she had last danced, and it had been standing on her father’s toes, nothing like this wild and feverish dreamlike waltz. They stayed perfectly in time with the music, and yet their rhythm was much livelier, much more alive than any of the dancers below. The stars shone like little suns far away in the dark blanket of the sky. The ice rink sparkled, and the chocolate fondue burbled happily. The night she had been dreading had suddenly changed, any thoughts of Anna and Kristoff gone, and replaced by something so much more thrilling. Perhaps she would have to throw more inter-kingdom parties like this one. Perhaps she should plan another wedding. Her own wedding?


	5. Day 5-Defeat

The field was empty. Or rather empty of the living. Dead soldiers littered the battlefield. No moans or cries for help, no twitching limbs, or bloodied stragglers rising from their would be grave-no wounded, just the dead. Overlooking the field was a woman, standing wearily in her dusty armor and holding a broken pole, flying a banner of blood red. She looked as if she were about to fall down beside the other dead and blood trickled from a small wound to her head. Her shield lay dented at her feet and her sword was no where to be found. This had not been a fight; this had been a massacre. And from the looks of the bodies there had been no victories on either side.  
Her own trusty stead among the dead, the knight turned away from the slaughter and began to trudge homewards. There was nothing she could do, no one she could save. Her boots sank into the mud and every step felt like a battle in and of its own. She felt like sinking into the hot springs near her home and washing off the blood and dirt of the day, but first she had to get home, and that meant walking through the field of death.  
***  
Buried under a pile of bodies, lay a little page. A girl who had never seen fighting before, who had never seen blood or death or suffering. Just a mere child, not at all suited for the battlefield. But she had been carrying her master’s banner, proudly marching in double time to keep up with his horse. She was too young. And yet there she lay, in the dirt and mud, beside and under her elders. Her master lay just mere feet away, rain filling his glassy eyes, his armor ripped open by the pike still buried in his chest.  
Unlike the grown-ups around her, she still had a heartbeat. Her breath still came in and out with a ragged sort of hitch. Her eyes were open, and within them a soul was bright and shining. She was not yet dead. And she was going to make it out of this grave.  
***  
There was no way around it. The field stretched on for miles and the way around would take her even longer than just plowing through. And besides, she wouldn’t being disturbing anyone, the bodies that she was stepping on were dead, their souls already gone to whatever god they worshipped.  
A gentle mist was closing in on the grim sight, cutting down the knight’s visibility and giving the whole scene an eerie feel. She tossed her braid over her shoulder and quickly hurried onwards. Just the other side of the valley, just a little further and she would be in the woods that would lead her home. Her small cottage, with the thatched roof and the dirt floor, was just a little further.  
Flies were already buzzing around some of the corpses, and she could have sworn that a rat was skittering among the pile to her right. Abandoned battlegrounds were foul cesspits of grim and nasty creatures who liked to gorge themselves on the rotting flesh. There was a squelch beneath her boot and before she could remember to stop herself, she looked down. Staring back at her was the face of a man with half his intestines hanging out and an arm ripped clean off. She tried to keep the contents of her stomach down, but the day was already taking its toll and she could barely keep the vomit off of her boots as she retched onto the bodies to her left.  
The tree line was well within sight, there were maybe less than ten paces between her and the freedom of the crisp forest air. Just a few more steps through the thick stench of the dead.  
***  
One more body separated her from the feeling of air on her grimy face. One more dead man keeping her from freedom. Her aching muscles could barely twitch at this point, but she had promised herself that she would not die here. She would see the sun one last time. Over and over again she whispered this like a mantra. The sun, I will see the sun. I will see it again, just one last time. The sun. Already she could feel a breeze on her legs, then her arms. She gave one last desperate shove, and the body tumbled off of her. The air was cold on her face, the wind whistling past her neck. She could taste the freedom in the air. She could see the clouds beginning to part, making way for her precious sun.  
***  
In front of her something moved, and at first, she thought it was just another rodent come to feast on the carcasses. But then it moved again, this time with a more decisive movement. Looking closer, she could see a small form underneath the hulking armored dead man. Someone was trying to shove themselves free.  
Taking another step, she tentatively pulled a pike out of a nearby body. Approaching the struggling form, she held the sharp end out. She had no idea if this was friend or foe, if there was any fight left in the shuddering form.  
Then the body came off with a sudden push and the figure underneath was revealed. A shaking girl, in the colors of Sun kingdom-gold on a backdrop of red- lay in the dirt. She did not seem to have the strength to do more than lay there, waiting for the clouds to break and the sun to come out between them. She didn’t even seem to notice the knight standing above her, pike still raised.  
***  
Please. She tried to whisper it, put nothing came out. Her throat was dry, and her lips cracked. Everything hurt even more than before. She did not think she would have the strength to walk away from this battlefield. But perhaps the sun would come out before her strength faded away completely.  
***  
The girl did not seem a threat. And the knight was too exhausted to care. She also seemed too weak to save. These were times of war, and sacrifices had to be made. So, the knight marched past her. Leaving the blood, the death, the suffering behind, the soldier dropped her weapon and walked away into the forest that would lead her home. Above her, the sun began to shine and behind her, the young page smiled.


	6. Day 6-Sunset

“Fetch the water. The mistress wants her bath to be warm.” Yara rose from her place at the foot of the bed and re-draped her robe around her toned body. The woman in question was lying lazily across the sheets wearing nothing but the thick gold necklace she had been gifted last year from a merchant trying to woo her. The wooing had resulted in him being fed to the crocodiles, but the necklace had done fairly well for itself so far. Now though, the sun was beginning to rise, and the night before had to be forgotten-gold necklace and all. Yara was just the servant, and her mistress required serving.

***

The steaming bathwater had been drawn and her mistress made her way to the edge of the great stone tub. Dipping one fine toe in, she let out a sigh of pleasure-not unlike the one she had let out last night. “Excellent, Yara. Keep serving me like this and you might make it somewhere after all,” Jora rasped in her silken husk of a voice, sending shivers up Yara’s spine. Her mistress sank all six feet of her sun-kissed body into the pool, only her head poking up above the swirling water. The necklace shimmered underneath the surface, almost like a golden fish encircling the perfect arched neck. Her mistress’s beauty paralleled that of one of the goddesses on the mosaic behind her. 

Yara stood attentively behind a pillar, not wanting to intrude upon her mistress’s privacy. “Come, don’t stand there like that, Yara. Join me, if you so desire,” Jora tossed an irresistible smirk Yara’s way as she threw one leg up on the side of the bath. With the sun rising over the tops of the houses, and the bathwater sparkling magnificently, Yara had no choice but to obey her mistress. After all, who said no to perfection. 

***

The dusty road stretched out ahead of her, the sun beating down from the its peak in the sky and creating a blistering heat wave that she now had to walk through. Beside her the other servants carried their mistress in the litter, and behind her the rest of the city sprawled out in a glimmering jumble of homes, street vendors, and squares with gurgling fountains every so often. They were heading back homewards, to the great palace on top of the hill. Having finished the days work in the inner-city, and both servant and master thoroughly exhausted, they now made the return journey.

Jora had spent hours hearing the complaints of the citizens, doling out punishments, rations, and in one case gifting a cow to a poor woman who had lost her home in the last flood. Yara had spent those hours gazing longingly at Jora’s luscious curls and the gold crown that sat in them-perhaps tonight she would wear only the crown- and the way the linen robe was both plain but accentuated her curves in the way only bare skin could otherwise. Every so often, Jora would spare Yara a glance, once she even went so far as to lick her lips suggestively. At this Yara had had to avert her eyes for fear of moaning right then and there. Jora was her mistress, but that did not mean that Yara was the only one causing pleasure.

***

Nearly having crested the top of the hill, Yara looked back on the splendid city. Someday perhaps, she would look down on it as a freed woman-perhaps even as a queen. The litter came up and over the crest and Yara saw Jora glowing in the sun, every curl on fire. Her queen looked radiant. 

“Yara, prepare the cool bath. I fear we are all a bit dusty from the journey,” Jora’s voice called out to her as she turned to face the path again. Her response was a quick nod, before Yara strode off to the cool stream to fill the bath. The others would bathe in the stream, but her queen would end her day in the same bath as the one she had taken in the morning-which included Yara.

***

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Yara looked out at the city once more. Looking back at her queen, she knew that nothing could ever compare to her beauty. “Sit, Yara. I have a matter of great importance that I wanted to consult you on,” Jora spoke gently, whispering into Yara’s ear and brushing her hand down her back, making her shudder. The bath was cool, but the atmosphere was not. Sitting in Jora’s lap, Yara turned to press a kiss on her queen’s jaw, making a trail up to her lips. Just before Jora could kiss her back, Yara pulled back.

“You had something to tell me?” The frustration of being denied was painted all over Jora’s face, but she brushed it off easily and began to speak again.

“I was wondering, especially with the larger workload I’ve been facing this past year, if the city would benefit from another ruler. If perhaps it is time that I considered marriage?” Trailing her finger down Yara’s breasts, Jora gave her a questioning look-anxious for an answer.

“What an interesting proposition…alas, you can’t marry your servant. The people would never stand for their queen marrying little more than a commoner,” Yara’s teasing reply only caused Jora to trail her fingers further, going so far as to dip one down even further than the rest. The gasp that escaped Yara was clearly the right response, and Jora quickly moved to add another finger, pumping them slowly up and down.

“What would you say if I told you I didn’t care what the people thought? What would you say if I made the servant a queen? My queen."

Jora’s pumping became faster, and Yara could feel her heart pounding, her body tightening and quickening all at once. 

“I would say…” her response was interrupted by a moan. “What was that?” Jora asked, pulling her fingers out ever so slightly.

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.” Yara couldn’t take it, if Jora didn’t finish now, she would have to finish herself. 

“That’s right. You’re going to be my queen, Yara. Mine.” Pleased by Yara’s answer, she dove hard and fast, finishing her so thoroughly that Yara could only lay there panting softly. The sun barley more than a sliver above the horizon and her queen dazzling in it.


	7. Day 7-Secrets

“Charlie. Charlie, this is A1. Report. Out.”

“A1, this is Charlie. We’ve run into some trouble on our end. The devil’s not playing along. Out.”

“Well then tell her if she doesn’t do her job, she doesn’t get her share of the money. We need her to do her job now!”

“Easier said than done, she seems more interested in actually enjoying the party than getting in the elevator with the target. Her womanly wiles are being put to use but not in the way we meant them too.”

“You said you could handle her, Charlie. This ones on you. Figure it out.”

“Well, maybe I made a mistake.”

_Crashes heard in the background. “Lilly! Get off the buffet table.” Screams and the sound of glasses shattering. “Lilly, this was supposed to be a covert mission.”_

“Charlie, come in. Charlie, report. Charlie, what the hell is going on over there?”

“A1, our cover’s blown. Mission abort. We are hightailing it out of here. Guards are on our tail.”

_Gunshots and the sound of panting. Laughter can be heard in the distance._

“A1, this is Demon. Ignore Charlie, she’s a wuss and a stickler to the plan. Sometimes life is about adventure. About improvisation and the thick of the moment. We are enroute to the rendezvous point, the diamond is in possession. Mission success. Demon out.”

Back at headquarters, A1 sat in shock. The video feed from Charlie’s camera was still coming in. Demon had probably caused millions in damage with her destructive rampage through the mansion, but she had managed to make it out in the chaos with the enormous diamond in her clutches. Charlie chasing madly after her, while trying to press the camera memory wipe button with shaking hands. It wouldn’t matter that the entire entourage of guests had seen their faces-most of the partygoers were drunk out of their minds, thanks to Charlie’s discreet spiking of the cocktail bar. In fact, Charlie had been the only discreet thing about this mission, but that was just the way things went when you involved the famous Demon. No one, not even Charlie, could really control Lilith. But she got the job done.


	8. Day 8-Fight

Day 8-Fight

_You’re not a real knight! _ Those bitter words kept running through her head, fiercer and faster than the stream that ran by her family’s cottage. Over and over again, she replayed the day’s events, wondering just where everything had fallen apart. 

_Ariel had ridden in before sunrise, not wanting to be late for her Saturday practice. She had pushed her horse through the woods and over the many hills that separated her and the castle. Her armor -gifted by the princess herself- was polished so well that it could have been used as a mirror, and her tunic was freshly washed in the stream -the blue looking as deep as the ocean and the emblem on it as fine as the day she had received it. The sword clanging in its sheath at her side and her shield strapped to her back, she rode in through the castle gates. _

_“Ariel, here to spar with the princess again? Perhaps you’d like some fresh bread.” The baker had asked, the sweet aroma of the cooling loaves wafting through the air, filling her nose and tempting the satchel of jangling coins at her side. Stopping for only a moment, she had given in and continued her ride with a sweet roll in one hand and a coin less in her satchel. Chickens had scattered before her horse’s hooves and a dog had run along behind her for quite some time. After what had seemed like ages, the young knight hopeful arrived at her destination. _

_Sliding from her stead, a sweet chestnut mare called Kala, she made her way up the winding path that led to the sparring ground. The sun was just starting to peek through the clouds and the mist was beginning to dissipate in the coming heat. It would be a warm day, but for now it was still pleasantly cool, and Ariel was decently warmed up from the ride. Now all she had to do was wait for the princess._

_***_

The cut above her eye dripped blood down her face, some of it running into the corner of her mouth making her spit. Kala snorted as she trotted along, the horse not feeling in much of a mood to run. The day had started so well, and then everything had just fallen apart in an instant -much like the rain that, not long after Ariel had started the ride back home, had started pouring out of the sky after the promise of sun. Now she was drenched and bleeding and bruised. Her heart broken in two and her whole-body aching. 

_“You came early today. I wasn’t expecting you until past sunrise,” said a figure shrouded in the fading mist. Her dress was plain: a rough spun tunic that was raveling at the ends, simple wrappings around her feet that hardly counted as shoes, a rusty sword dull with use, and on her head a crown of daisies. One would have hardly guessed that she was the young princess-and heir to the throne._

_She stood casually with her hands at her sides. The sword was loose in her grip and her smile was friendly. Nothing about her manner indicated what was to come in fact it almost seemed as if the young princess was happy to see the young knight hopeful. Without wasting anymore time the princess swung her sword up in a blow. It did not surprise Ariel; she was used to this sort of sparring. What did come as a surprise was the viciousness with which the attacks continued, there was nothing about this encounter that matched their previous light-hearted practice._

_Something had shifted in their normal playful banter. Ariel worried that she had done something wrong. That perhaps she had angered the young princess or caused some emotional harm. She attempted to search her memories for what she could have possibly done, whilst parrying the strikes raining from above, but nothing came to mind. Then she missed a blow, taking the brunt of it with her chest plate, and tumbled back onto the ground. Her princess didn’t stop though, didn’t wait like she normally did for Ariel to push herself back up from the ground. Instead she gave a quick stab towards her sword arm and knocked it out of Ariel’s grip in second. Then she snarled something in Ariel’s ear._

_“You think you’re good enough for me? You think you can just use me like some toy? Some means to an end? You’re not even a real Knight!” Tears of red-hot anger and hurt rolled down the princess’s cheeks and almost without thinking she sliced upwards, cutting just above Ariel’s eye. _

_Scrambling backwards, Ariel stuttered out a simple, “why?” Trying all the while to stay away from the swinging blade and the angry princess._

_“You know what you did! You know who you kissed! I saw you. In the stables last week, all hot and bothered with that boy. You picked him over me!” The pieces were starting to fall into place. Ariel was remembering exactly what the princess was angry about. _

_Last week she had indeed been kissed by the stable boy, but she had been in no way hot and bothered. In fact, the stable boy had been kissing her entirely against her will and she had been trying to shove him off. But how could she tell brave, fierce princess that her stable boy had raped her. Instead Ariel rolled away, whistling for Kala to come. _

Now she was riding away from the castle, away from the girl she loved, and why? All because of some awful boy. If her mother could see her, she would have scolded her. She would have told Ariel to turn the horse around and tell the princess the truth. Tell the princess everything she felt and make things right again. But her mother wasn’t there, so Ariel kept nudging Kala along. Until Kala just stopped and refused to move, just standing there in the middle of the mud road. “Kala. I don’t have time for this, I need to be home before nightfall. Move!” 

Suddenly Kala jolted forwards but not towards home, instead she had turned towards the castle and began to gallop at break-neck speed for the distant gate. “Kala!” But Ariel’s shout was lost in the wind as she had to grab onto Kala’s mane for dear life. On the road ahead, someone was riding towards them at a similar speed. Someone, who’s silhouette Ariel could recognized from over a mile away, someone with a daisy crown adorning her billowing hair, someone that Ariel loved more than anything and anyone. Someone that she would always fight for.


	9. Day 9-Woods

“Marie, Marie! It’s time to come home.” Her mother’s familiar voice echoed through the branches and caused the two lovers to be jolted out of their reverie. Esme disentangled herself from said Marie’s embrace and gave her a cheeky grin. Picking up the picnic basket from the ground, she placed a peck on Marie’s cheek and turned in to the dimming sun. 

Why did her mother have to be calling at this early hour? Normally, the young maiden could get away with galivanting about the forest until the moon was high above the old trees and slip in only after everyone else was fast asleep. Tonight, it would seem this was not the case.

Standing by the front -and only door- of their small cottage was Marie’s mother. Her soft auburn hair shone in the fading light, the gray streaks in it lighting up like gossamer strands of spider webs. Her face was wrinkled, but the smile and bright eyes told a story of beauty. And in those eyes and the high cheekbones, one could see exactly where Marie had gotten her stunning looks from. 

“Marie, have you forgotten? I say, you’ve been spending far too much time in those woods with that girl, you’ve forgotten your own father’s birthday,” said her mother, running her crooked fingers through her once thick hair. 

“I didn’t forget. I only…thought it was next week,” Marie trailed off. It seemed that she had indeed spent so much time in the woods with Esme that her own father’s birthday had escaped her. 

“Aah, so you did forget. No matter, I’ve already made the cake. But there is the small matter of a present. Your father will be returning from the market soon and I can try to stall him awhile. But this doesn’t leave you much time,” her mother spoke as if she had been preparing this speech, as if she had known that Marie would forget. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go,” she shooed her away, sending Marie off to find the right gift.

***

Chasing after Esme, Marie ran. Perhaps she would have some idea of what to give her father. Esme always seemed to know what to give people. Ducking under branches and leaping over stumps and logs in her way, Marie made her dash through the woods, knowing that every second she wasted to catch her breath could mean that her father was coming home to a house devoid of gifts. She wouldn’t let that happen-couldn’t. 

Her father’s birthday would mark his fiftieth year, that at least she had not forgotten. And for nearly all of those fifty years he had run the market stall that sold the best bread in the village; and on days that Marie’s hunting had gone well he sold her venison and rabbit too. Tomorrow the whole village would celebrate with fireworks, but tonight it would be just them, just the family. If Marie made it home in time with the gift. But she would, she could not doubt herself in this.

“Esme. Esme, I need your help,” calling out into the woods, Marie hoped that Esme would hear her. The sun was slipping ever closer to the horizon and her father would be home just after sundown. Rounding the corner, Marie crashed into something-or rather someone.

Looking a little worried, Esme stood before Marie. “You called for me? Is everything alright?”

“No. Well, I mean yes. I forgot about my father’s birthday and I need help with a gift and I couldn’t think of anyone else to help me,” Marie blurted out, rushing over her words as she tried to catch her breath.

“Okay, okay, we’ll think of something. We always do. When is your father coming home?” Esme replied, calm as ever.

“Just after sundown. He has to finish up at the market, but we don’t have much time.”

***

The delicately carved bird whistle was perfect. As Marie’s father unwrapped it, his eyes crinkled with unmistakable joy. His gentle fingers found the holes and he gave it a soft blow. Her mother clapped with delight as a sweet tone came out of the bird’s mouth. Esme gave that grin of hers from the doorway and Marie smiled back. Then Esme turned and slipped back into the woods, her deed done and her love content.


	10. Day 10-Prince

“51.” The ball bounced off the tower wall yet again. “52.” Again, the ball bounced. Each time the princess counted out loud she imagined in her head some gruesome way to murder the wizard that kept her locked up here. “53.” This time the ball bounced too hard and flew off the wall with such force that it ricocheted around the small bedroom and out the open window.

A shout came from below, the cry of someone who had just been hit on the head with a ball. Looking a bit shocked, the princess stuck her head out the window. What she saw beneath her was not what she had been expecting in the least, not that she had been expecting much when she had heard the cry. 

The rider was tall and wearing muddy chainmail. Sitting atop a russet horse that seemed to be either constipated or about to throw its rider off, they looked upwards when the princess shouted down, “Hey you!”

“Ummm, is this your ball?” asked the rider, tossing the red ball back up to the princess.

“Yeah, sorry for hitting you with it. Sometimes the tower gets boring and I try my luck with chucking things at random strangers, you know, as one does. Anyways, thanks,” the princess caught it and quickly threw it back into the room behind her.

They both made as if to turn away from each other, but then the knight turned back and asked, “Do you need rescuing? You look a little stuck in that tower.”

“Actually, yeah. I’d love to get out,” the princess flashed the rider her best save-me-smile.

***

The figure that nosedived through the window was clad in bulky armor and got stuck half-way through the opening. “I think I’m going to need some help, my boot’s stuck.” The sound was muffled through the visor, but the princess still understood the gist of it. Tugging on her arms, the princess tried desperately to pull the knight through the window. Leaning all of her weight into it, she yanked. Then finally, with the help of some very unladylike grunts, the person came tumbling through. 

The knight and the princess sat on the floor for a few moments, the princess panting and the knight just sort of staring. Then the two broke out laughing. 

“That was the most amazing grunt I’ve ever heard,” the knight managed to get out in between bursts of laughter. The princess tossed her pink curls over one shoulder as she sat up from the floor and replied with, “Yeah, I don’t even now where that came from, but all of a sudden it gave me the strength to pull you through. I couldn’t believe it when you got stuck though. That was like the most anticlimactic rescue ever.” Then the two of them broke out in another fit of laughter as the horse whinnied below.

Pulling of the visor, the rider revealed long dark hair and fine lips. Her body was more curved than that of a prince’s and the princess just sort of stared in shock at her luck.

“Sorry, were you expecting a prince?” the armored woman asked as she swept the princess of her feet. “Oh, no, this is so much better,” replied the princess, gazing up at her gorgeous savior-who was indeed not a prince. But instead, a long haired, sword-wielding, tower-scaling, badass warrior who would put all the knights and princes of all the kingdoms to shame. And she had come to save her.

***

Having ungracefully and rather unglamorously clambered out of the tower, the knight helped the princess onto her motley brown horse and the two of them rode off into the drizzling rain.

And yes, they did live happily ever after. 


	11. Day 11-Faerie

The air was heavy, filled with fog and twinkling lights. A path cut through the swirling mist like the sun through shadows. Lila stood at the beginning of it, wondering if she should venture beyond her ring of light and the safety it offered. Was it really worth proving Elia that she wasn’t scared? Would it even prove it to Elia? Worst of all, why did she even care what Elia thought of her? 

None of this would have happened if Lila hadn’t come to the stupid party. She wouldn’t have had to have played truth or dare, she wouldn’t have gotten drunk and boasted to Elia that she was the bravest girl on campus and she certainly wouldn’t have tried to kiss her, resulting in her current predicament. Her dare was to walk across the football field and light a flare on the opposite side (something that was illegal on campus). It seemed simple enough, even with the part about dodging campus security. But as it always was with Elia, nothing was ever just simple. It was Hallows Eve, and Elia knew that Lila had always been afraid of faeries -even after her parents, and everyone else, had tried to convince her they weren’t real- and tonight was the night that most faerie experts believed they were most active. Which meant that Lila was terrified to walk across the misty field. And practically the entire college was watching her. So, this night was going terrifically.

Taking a cautious step out onto the turf, Lila steeled herself for the arduous walk ahead. The mist was cool around her, enveloping her almost instantly and closing her off from the jeering people behind her. It was quiet, almost too quiet. There definitely should have been some noise coming from behind her. In fact, there should have been lots of it. Instead there was just silence. And then a tinkling, the sound of a bell, and laughter. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Lila saw a figure clad in green. Then something flitted past her, leaving a trail of sparkling dust in its wake. Ahead of her a lantern glowed. Lila’s heart began to race. Faeries.

Dropping the flare, she ran towards what she hoped was the frat party, but she had gotten hopelessly turned around in the fog and was running aimlessly. Then something caught her foot and she went tumbling to the ground. Raising her hands in fear, she began to murmur some of the protection spells she had read up on in the library. A figure approached her with smooth steps, nearly gliding over the football field, shrouded in mist. Lila tried to scramble backwards, but the figure was to fast, moving in on her like a shark in water. Lila screamed, curling in on herself and awaiting certain death.

“Lila, it’s okay. It’s just us, we were just joking around,” Elia’s voice came from above like the call of a guardian angel. Lila slowly took her arms away from her face and looked up at the masked face before her. This time when she screamed, the figure covered her mouth with a soft hand.

“Lila, seriously. It’s me, Elia. You can stop screaming.” The figure removed her hand and drew the mask from her head. Elia’s soft red curls fell forwards to frame her face and Lila slowly came back to her senses. Of course, this was just a cruel joke. Elia had made good use of Halloween and the smoke machine and Lila’s irrational fear, but still, Lila couldn’t stop shaking. It made her angry that Elia would do this to her. Sure, Lila had been stupid and tried to kiss her, but that didn’t mean Elia had to give her a heart attack in return. It just hadn’t been called for and now Lila was scared, and it was all just unfair. Rising from the turf, Lila made to push Elia away, but instead Elia caught her hand.

“Don’t. Don’t be mad, we were just having a bit of fun. Come on, you don’t really believe in faeries anyways, right?” Elia’s teasing just made it worse. Lila was about to raise her free hand to give Elia a piece of her mind when Elia closed the distance between them, and their lips collided. Lila thought she might still be drunk as she could have sworn actual sparks flew, but she wasn’t complaining. In fact, she was kissing Elia back like it was the last night in the world, making sure that when it ended, Lila would be able to remember every detail, every curve and dip and soft spot. Elia knew that the sparks were real, and Elia knew that Lila had every right to be frightened of faeries. Because after all, wasn’t Elia’s love dangerous? But they kept on kissing and it kept mattering less and less. And when they broke apart for air, Lila was too focused on Elia’s lips that the pointed ears didn’t matter at all.


	12. Day 12-Tattoos

_The young mage wanted nothing more than to please her father when she took up the noble art of staff-wielding. It was an ancient magic that took decades to master, and even some of the most senior wielders still had not succeeded in unlocking all of the gnarled staff’s secrets. But she was determined to be the youngest and the best. Because how else would she prove to her father that she was better than the son he had not gotten. _

Bronwyn tightened the cloth wrappings around her hand again, knowing that the strips bathed in the stream would give her the focus needed to perform her first spell. The hazelnuts bouncing around in her satchel would provide luck and the rabbit hopping around her feet would ensure her success. She could not fail this final test.

Stepping out into the clearing, Bronwyn cleared her throat and relaxed her grip on the staff in her left hand. With her right she raised the laurel bow and began to chant. Starting softly and rising in volume, her incantation filled the trees and rustled the leaves on the old oak before her. Around her the elders watched with beady eyes and wrinkled hands, marking her every move and leaning in to hear her every whisper. They waited, carefully examining the circle she now drew in the layer of dead leaves that covered the forest floor. Then clapped in muted approval as the dead foliage transformed into a kaleidoscope of butterflies. This spell was quickly followed by the second, the remaining leaves hanging on the oak tree fell off and as they fell became snowflakes that did not melt when they landed on the forest floor. Then the third enchantment, the hardest. The bare oak tree before her now had to be coaxed back to life, as lush and green as in the height of summer.

Concentrating on the oak’s life force, Bronwyn closed her eyes and let it rush through her. Let it fill her veins, until the oak’s heartbeat matched her own and then she took the ceremonial knife from her belt and drew a fine line of blood from her hand. Dripping through her fingers and down the twists of her staff, carved from an oak not unlike this one, her blood stained the roots of the great tree crimson. The elders looked on with amusement, some with curiosity, and some even with boredom. They had seen this ritual being performed all day, and many had grown tired. Many had failed this last task, many had passed. It was not a particularly interesting sight at this point of the day and when the oak turned green again, leaves sprouting from barren branches, it was not too much of a surprise. Giving Bronwyn the appropriate response, the elders rose as one and bestowed their blessing to receive the mark that would make her an apprentice no longer, but instead a mage through and through. Free to roam the world and practice magic within it, something Bronwyn had wanted since she had been a small child, and now it would be hers.

To receive her mark, she would have to pay a visit to the local ink maker, where the ancient symbols of the staff-wielders would be set in gold on her arms. The ink maker was an old man, with trembling hands and one blind eye. Not exactly the sort of hands you trusted to make the bold straight lines of the druid designs, so Bronwyn was a bit nervous. Despite all the preparation that had gone into this, she was now unsure if this immortalization of her skill was really such a good idea. Perhaps she should venture over to the next village and have the ink maker there perform the rite. But that would be wrong, it would shame the old ink maker and it would be cruel to the kind, yet aging, man to deny him this task.

Arriving at the door of his house, Bronwyn gave a sharp knock. The sound of shuffling and something being nocked over could be heard inside and Bronwyn winced as a resounding crash echoed through the small cottage. Finally, the door creaked open on hinges that had clearly not seen oil in a while and Bronwyn stood face to face with a girl about her age. 

Short black hair framed her face and the dark eyes that peered out at her were flecked with gold, her hands were covered in black ink stains. There could be no mistaking her. The ink maker’s daughter.

“Can I help you?” the inquisition came out curt and to the point. The girl did not even think to invite Bronwyn in and so the two of the stood strangely in the doorway.

“I’m here to receive the markings, the elders sent me” Bronwyn held up her staff in explanation and awaited a response from the girl.

“Oh, well, come on back I guess,” her response came out rather disinterested, but Bronwyn could tell that the girl was scrutinizing her. She was probably wondering how someone so young could be receiving the mark of mage, but Bronwyn herself was still wondering at how disinterested the elders had been at her young age. Instead of applauding her and showering her in praise, they had simply sent her off like the others, some of her fellow new mages were even twice her age. It seemed as though none of them had found it even remotely curious that she had done what many of her seniors couldn’t. Of course, the answer to how was just long hours of practice and frustration, and a little bit of luck from the rabbit. 

Following the ink maker’s daughter into the back of the house, Bronwyn saw a broken vase and nearly without thinking gave a small tap of her staff and made it whole again. The girl in front of her made no comment but seemed to walk a bit quicker. 

“Sit down.” Gesturing towards a small wooden stool, the girl began busying herself with all sorts of tools and a pot of ink. The old ink maker was nowhere to be found and it suddenly did not seem as though he would be joining them. 

“You? You’re going to mark the symbols?” Bronwyn’s disbelief was clear on her face and the girl’s retort was quick.

“I didn’t question your age, don’t question mine.”

And then she began.

***

It stung, but Bronwyn was accustomed to such pain, having gone through much of it in her training. Mastering pain was the one of the first steps to understanding the living world around her, and so she sat there as still as she could while the ink maker’s daughter etched runes into her forearms. The gold ink practically glowing as it was cut into her skin, Bronwyn watched with fascination and awe as the tattoos became defined shapes, twisting into the symbols that would mark her as a mage, as a staff-wielder, as a harnesser of life itself. Not pausing once, or ever doubting her ink placement the ink maker’s daughter continued her work. Then, satisfied with the result she finalized the markings with an incantation of her own -one that was passed down from ink maker to ink maker, mother to son, father to daughter. The marks burned for a moment and then she looked up. 

“All done.”

Bronwyn gazed at the ink in wonder; she could feel the magic in them, the power. The girl had done a truly wonderful job. And Bronwyn tried to say as much but was cut off.

“My father charged me with one thing only: excellence. I do my job, nothing more and nothing less.”

“Still, thank you. You’ve made your father proud,” Bronwyn managed to get out before the girl shushed her and ushered her out of the small home.

“Go, be a mage, fulfill your destiny. And perhaps someday we will meet again.”

The words were strange, but some part of Bronwyn knew that they rang true. Someday, her tattoos would reunite her with their maker. And someday, her gift would have a meaning. Someday, she would make her own father proud.


	13. Day 13-Home

Wind whistles through her hair; there are clouds below her and stars above her. She rides what some might call a beast of nightmare, but to her it is just her stead. Her companion, who has flown through so much of this world with her, who was there from the beginning as a small hatchling and who is now here as she makes her way home. She hopes that there still is a home for her to return to. There hasn’t been news in years and rumors say that a foul beast attacked the castle in the clouds, but she refuses to believe them. Now the stars are guiding her home, after so many years of chasing them, they are now her map. 

As soon as the sun rises, she will have to make her camp, without the stars her navigation is useless, and she will be lost. A sky people, their kingdom has always kept high above the ground, and no man could ever find the castle. Or at least, that’s what her mother always told her. Now the rumors make it seem as if the shroud of clouds that kept them safe has disappeared, but she still cannot believe them. To give up hope now would be unthinkable. She will see her family again, she must. 

It is nearly silent up here, the only sound, the flapping of great leathery wings. Her own breathing is lost on the wind. It is peaceful, but also lonely. She does not speak, even though her flying friend would understand, he would not be able to respond. She is racing against the sun now, trying to get in the last few miles before the sun has become to bright to see the other stars by. Once it has truly risen, she will dive back below the clouds and sleep the day away in some tree or mountain cave.

***

Something startles her out of her doze, the sound of thunder off in the distance perhaps. But then it sounds again, and this time she knows. This is no thunder. The sun has set, and dark has fallen once again. And something is out there in the dark with her, something that does not sound friendly at all. Her winged friend is alert too, a growl of its own rising in its throat, ready to return the message of hostility to whatever it is that lurks in the night.

Swinging her leg up over the saddle, she gives her companion the signal to fly. If she comes face to face with this creature, she would rather do it in the sky, where she might have the advantage, than on the ground. 

As they rise into the dark, above the clouds, the stars bask the rider and stead in soft light. The roars are getting closer, louder. They are about to find out what it is that makes such terrible sounds. The rider tightens her grip on the reigns and locks her feet into the stirrups. A great whooshing suddenly rushes through their patch of clouds; something enormous is beating its wings in front of them. 

The bow in her hands is knocked and the string is pulled tight, her fingers itch to let the arrow loose, but she waits. Patience is key to aiming true. And even though her eyes are accustomed to the dark, there is still the matter of the clouds. The beast roars again and this time she swears she can feel the spittle on her face. In another great whooshing noise, the clouds are whisked away and the gargantuan creature before them fills even her periphery. Even a well placed arrow would not bring a creature of this size down. And the creature is heavily scaled, any shot would have to be to the eye or mouth. She’ll have to make the shot count.

Drawing back so tightly she fears the string will snap, she fires. The arrow’s aim is true, and it lodges itself in the eye of this hellish creature, but all it does is roar. Her attack does nothing but anger it. Retreating quickly, she tries to dodge around it, desperately trying to scout out any weaknesses while avoiding the thrashing tail and the mouth full of teeth. Under the wing, she spots something. Not a weakness, but ruins, floating in the sky. Home.

Everything seems to slow as she sees the broken castle walls and the tattered banners flying in the wind. Her family. The tail nearly smacks into her and she snaps out of her reverie. There’s nothing she can do for her family right now, whether they’re dead or alive. If she doesn’t kill this monster, it won’t matter.

Knocking another arrow, she lets it fly. This time striking the other eye in an attempt to at least slow it. But the creature doesn’t seem to rely on sight and other than eliciting another roar, the beast continues to swipe at her. 

There has to be some spot, some chink in the armor that will allow her to kill the blasted thing. Because if there isn’t, she won’t even get to know what became of her family, and she refuses to accept that. Scanning the great beast’s scales again she finally sees something she didn’t before. The hilt of an ornate dagger buried deep in its chest, the jewels on it all to familiar. Her mother’s.

The arrows won’t pierce the hide from this distance, that much she is sure of. But perhaps if she got closer it would work. If she could get under its wing and plunge an arrow between the scales, straight into its heart. 

Spurring her noble friend on, they speed towards the beast, making sure to dodge the tail and aiming for the left breast. The arrow is clenched in her fist. She only has one shot; her other arrows are already spent. This has to count.

A horrible screeching fills the air as the beast claws at the air, only the fledgling sticking out of its chest. From a safe distance she watches as the monster falls from the sky, its wings useless as the blood flow is cut off. The clouds part for a moment and then close, as if nothing had been there in the first place.

Above the stars are shining and she turns her stead towards the ruins, wanting to know her family’s fate-needing to know. As she flies, she hears the sounds of other wings beating. Other winged beasts like her own. Her heart soars as she dares to glance around. Her family descends from the darkness above and surrounds her. Her sister on her left, her mother on her right, and all around her the others. They fly to the ruins together. As a family, whole again. As a family come home. 


	14. Day 14-Ships

_The waves lapped at her feet and the sand gently tickled her toes. The sun was bright, hanging like a lantern in the blue, blue sky. To her right she could see the outline of the port, ships bustling in and out like women at the Sunday market. To the left, a crooked mountain range reached its craggy fingertips skyward. Sprawling out behind her were fields upon fields of rice, going back as far as the eye could see; workers stood up to their knees in the wet fields raking and picking and cutting. And in front, the ocean. Wild and yet calm all at once, guiding the ships and fishermen on currents and spitting out bounties of fish, the ocean gave her people life. And today, in the sparkling sun, it was resplendent. Never had she seen it finer, never had it been more blue, never had it been more salty, or warm. Never had the fishermen come back with their nets quite so full. It was beauty in its truest form._

_Even though Eva was just a child, less than ten summers old, she already knew the importance of the ocean. The way it determined her parents’ livelihood and how much food was on the table each night. The way it both gave life and took it away, like with her older brother a little less than five moons ago. The way it called her, beckoning her, begging her to come out to sea. _

_She would not be like the other women in her village, bustling their way through the endless rows of rice from sunrise to sunset. She would not busy herself with task like watching the other mewling children or washing the family linens. No, she would not even run the market stand, where rattling coins would change hands and sellers would shout their wares. She would not do what was asked of her, expected. She was going to be one of the fishermen, one of the sailors on the big rigs that left port sometimes-setting out for adventure. She would sail to one end of the sea and back again. This she knew._

Her sandals sunk into the soggy ground, getting stuck for the fifth time as she tried to make her way through the rows. Her pack, filled to the brim with rice bushels, kept sliding as she trudged forwards leaving chaffing on her shoulders. She was getting nowhere with this day; her rice production rate was -if anything- going down and her back ached from all the bending over. This would disappoint her father, but she simply could not fathom the idea of spending another minute in the fields. There were ships coming in from the new lands today and she planned on being there when they did, whether there was rice to be cut or not. 

One thing had not changed over the years: her fascination with the sea. When her father had lost his arm in a freak fishing accident and she had had to head into the rice fields to help the family accommodate for the loss. When her second brother had come back blinded from a stray fishhook. When her mother had told her there was no way they could finance sending her away. She had stayed true to her dream, never forgetting where she belonged. And soon, she would be leaving for good. The strings of coins under the loose floorboard in her bedroom were itching to be taken out. To clatter into the hands of some rugged sea captain for a place on his ship. To pay for silks and exotic foods from the far away ports she would visit. At night she planned, whispering to them, _soon_. She fell asleep to the sound of rushing waves and the light rocking of a boat and woke to the cries of the seabirds. The ocean was in her blood and she would not let her family’s misfortune crush her dream.

Pouring the contents of her pack on to Mar’s growing pile, Eva left her sister sorting through the bushels. One of the ships coming to port would be her ticket out of here-she just knew it. 

Lifting the floorboard was easy enough and she tucked the strings into her satchel along with her journal and blanket. Other than the clothes on her back, she did not own anything in the house and while she would leave her family, she would not take their things. Provision would be easy enough to buy in the city and she would replace her old worn clothes at the first new port. Already her heart thrummed with excitement. Her dream was just within reach, all that was missing was the boat that would whisk her away.

***

The docks were bustling. Vendors shouted from booths about all sorts of wares, from anchors to ropes to hammocks. Anything and everything that could be used on a ship could be found on the crowded docks, including the ships themselves.

Decorated with flags and banners from the far off lands and painted with bright murals on their hulls -depicting the sea, or krakens, or dolphins leaping above the waves, or mermaids swimming through the deep- the masts reached into the sky, dwarfing even the city bell tower. These ships were the most ornate she had ever seen, fit for kings and emperors. Some were gilded in gold, while others were made from crimson wood. And each one had a captain and a crew, and one had a place for her.

Weaving through the crowd, she made her way to the ship at the very end of the docks. Smaller than the rest, but still gorgeous. The painting was done in deep blues and greens, showing a waterhorse rising on the foam. And its name sat in swirling gold lettering at the helm: Discovery. It did not take Eva more than a moment to know that this was the ship for her. The crew looked organized, tight-knit, swinging through the netting with ease and performing their duties with efficient grace. It looked from the ground like an elegant dance. 

Snapped out of her reverie, a voice called to Eva.

“Well, are you just going to stand there? You can’t see much from the ground. Come up the board there, take a better look,” the man with a gravity defying coiffe and heavily embroidered coat beckoned to her with a gloved hand, that she had almost expected to end in a hook. She stood frozen, afraid that the moment would break and that she would be shaken awake by Mar and sent into the rice fields again. Where her head faltered, her heart -and by extension feet- knew exactly what to do. 

Climbing the board with sure steps, Eva took the man’s hand as he helped her over the edge. The mariners moved around them without missing a step in their intricate dance. In the back of her mind she was already memorizing the steps.

“She’s beautiful. How fast does she go?” Eva half-wondered out loud and half-asked the man who had introduced himself as Alonso. 

“Depends on the crew, the wind, and the lady fortune. If you like you could join us, come out on the sea and see for yourself,” Alonso’s offer came almost as if he had read her mind. Once again Eva’s head faltered, but her heart was already answering.

“Yes, oh a thousand times yes. I will sail the seas with you and this ship, and I swear I can make myself useful too!” Her eyes shone bright and she practically jumped up and down with joy.

“Then welcome aboard…” he waited, she realized, for her name-which in her excitement had forgotten to tell him. 

“Eva.”

“Welcome Eva, to the Discovery, the finest ship on the Thirteen Seas.”


	15. Day 15-Blood

“Oh, isn’t it wonderful. Our little mayflower is all grown. Our Saida is getting married!” her mother bustled around her, buzzing like a bee to a flower. She wasn’t the only one humming, the whole household was in uproar. Everyone who was anyone was preparing for the wedding. All except Saida. 

She sat on the chair, still and straight-backed, letting her mother comb and brush and tease her hair into intricate twists and braids. Then her mother tucked delicate flowers into Saida’s long tresses and finished it off with a smattering of pins. Her dress was already on, a soft flowing thing dipped in cream. She liked it well enough, but the rest of the day was not at all to her liking. She had not chosen this marriage and she had not chosen the boy who was supposed to whisk her away in mere hours. But there was no saying anything now, not after her mother’s greatest wish was coming true. Resigning herself to silence, she fiddled with the satin ribbons, turning the pink over and over in her hand. Soon this day would be over, and her mother pleased. Then she could perhaps run off into the forest and live the life of a hermit. Going from village to village as a peddler of wood herbs and firewood, or maybe she could sell the ornate knife that she had received as a wedding gift. 

“All finished, my darling. You look beautiful. He’s going to love you,” her mother’s words did little to excite her, if anything they made it worse. The boy didn’t even know her; he was just some pretty-face whose parents had had enough cows to pay for Saida. Talk about romantic. But it didn’t really matter at this point. Saida wouldn’t be married to him for long, in fact the only reason she hadn’t already run for the nearest mountains was because she wanted to please her mother. That want was waning by the minute though.

***

Her little cousins rang little bells and her youngest sister threw flowers into the air behind her as she walked demurely down the aisle, one hand gripping her father’s arm, the other clenched in a tight fist. The whole village had showed up, and probably the next village over from the crowded rows. None of it bothered Saida, what did was the boy at the altar.

Flowing blonde locks and a grin that sent the other ladies swooning, he had an arrogant air about him. The sort that set off red flags and warning bells. Perhaps she would be cutting her time with him even shorter, perhaps she would leave their encounter at this brief meeting of eyes. And then she saw her mother, eyes just ever so slightly teary and a smile of pure pride. Her foolish mother was ecstatic, and it killed Saida with every step closer to the dais.

“By the light of the sun, do you Saida take this man to be yours until it sets in the east and rises in the west?” Saida wanted to run, to wrench her hands out the rough ones gripping her, to say _to hell with your cows and customs, I won’t marry him_, but she didn’t. Smiling her sunniest, she replied with the customary, “By the light of the sun, I do.” 

The priest turned to the pretty-face opposite her and asked the same. His answer came out buttery smooth and Saida could have sworn she heard someone in the crowd faint. It made her want to retch into the grass beneath her feet.

Then he began to lean in, and she wanted to retch even more. How could she have forgotten about the kiss? Every newly wed couple had to kiss in the light of the sun and village, but that didn’t make Saida hate it any less. 

His lips were like that of a toad -and Saida knew what toad lips tasted like, she never turned down dares. They lingered too long as well, causing her to pull away with a jerk. This marriage was already off to a great start.

***

She had suffered through the dancing and the feast, now she was nearly free. One last rite remained: the bedding ceremony. She shuddered to think of it. 

Her mother clapped her hands together three times and motioned for the crowd to gather. Naturally, the new couple was at the center.

“Tonight, we join two families, two villages, two hearts, two homes. Tonight, my daughter becomes a woman. So, join me in our most ancient rite. Join me in leading the bride and bridegroom to the wedding bed!” Her mother spoke with far too much enthusiasm. For the third time that day Saida thought she would be sick.

Lifting her onto their shoulders the towns people carried her to the barn, which had been done up and decorated with lanterns and flowers and now housed a bed instead of sheep. Beside her, the boy -whose name she had not bothered learning- was being hoisted up as well. Where she looked and felt uncomfortable, he smirked with ease, waving at the crowd and blowing kisses to the young women throwing themselves at him. She didn’t care that he was pursuing others at their wedding, what shocked her was how openly the others flirted with him. Apparently, the village had lost all sense of respect when it came to this _wonder_boy. 

She refused to let them strip her down to nothing -something that she and her companion could find common ground on- and was then left alone in the barn with the stranger.

“I…” She was abruptly cut off by his toad lips. Shoving back against him, she tried to speak again, but he only shushed her and jammed his tongue further down her throat. Saida thought she might actual retch straight into his mouth. 

His arms pressed her against the bed as he pinned her down with the rest of his body weight. Continuing his defilement of her mouth he let them trail down her body, touching over her breasts and stomach and finally coming to settle between her legs. All the while, Saida tried to push him off in an attempt to free herself. She could feel his length growing hard between her legs, now it felt as if the toad had planted itself, not in her mouth, but in her crotch. She wanted to scream. Instead she found a grip on a hilt, wrought in gold and silver and set with rubies and diamonds. A beautiful thing, worth much more than the measly cows he had given her family, but also deadly.

Plunging it upward, Saida felt his blood run hot over her hands. For a moment, he did not notice, then his member went slack and his lips sagged. She began to twist the blade, flipping them over so that she was on top. Looking down at his twisted face she spat. This monster deserved no pity from her, only pain and death. With one final thrust she watched the light leave his eyes in a mixture of shock and anger, then she pulled the knife out. Wiping it off on the sheets, she rose from the bed, her hair disheveled and her dress covered in blood. She did not care. 

And without a glance back at the man lying glassy-eyed on the bed, she walked away into the night. 


	16. Day 16-Shadows

When your mother and father were the King and Queen of Night, you didn’t really have a lot of choice in who your friends were. They were either scared of you, understandably, or not noble enough, stupid societal pressures. And so, Clara, the little princess of nightmares, had only one friend. And really, she wasn’t much of a friend at all. Her mother had paid her to accompany Clara wherever she went, more of a nanny than a companion. But she had still warmed up to Clara, had become her friend, despite Clara’s terrifying aura.

And on this day, while her mother held court under the mountain and her father governed the sparkling city beyond it, Clara was out playing. Her friend, Mor, was running behind her; the two of them letting their wings billow out in the wind as they frolicked. The day was cold, with a delicious whirl of gusts blowing through the field. The sun could not be seen in the grey sky, but the moon hung pale and low above the horizon. It was the perfect time to be out playing, or at least, that was what Mor and Clara thought. 

What they didn’t know was that they were not alone in the field. Something was stalking them, prowling through the long grass with vicious claws and jaw full of teeth. Something straight out of the nightmares that Clara was princess of. Its maw was still dripping with the blood of the children from the stream, which it had devoured in mere minutes. They had not had the chance to put up a fight, neither would Clara and Mor. Or so the beast thought to itself as it followed their scent, creeping closer and closer. 

“What do you think is going on in there right now?” Mor asked, gesturing towards the crooked peak that loomed like a watchful mother, or perhaps like an executioner with his axe always raised. Clara turned, nearly lifting off as a particularly strong blow filled her bat-like wings. She thought for a moment, contemplating what she knew about her mother’s duties as queen. Her mother’s job was important, but the people who lived in the mountain didn’t all think so. Some nights she would come home with defeat in her voice and tears in her eyes. Those nights, she never seemed to want to play and would instead spend long hours by the fireplace while the King stroked her auburn hair. Clara always wondered what it was that made her normally cheerful -always ready to play- mother so sad.

“She’s helping the bad people. She’s teaching them how to not be mean,” Clara chose her words carefully, or as carefully as a ten-year-old could. Mor nodded in quick agreement; Clara’s statement made sense after all. Everyone who lived outside the mountain and its shadow knew that there was a reason the only people to enter -and leave- it were the King and Queen. Those that lived within were supposed monsters, so evil, so malevolent, so dark that even Night had no place for them. And yet, the King and Queen never abandoned them. And they were still people of the kingdom.

As they spoke and laughed and pondered the workings of their world -the way that only ten-year-olds can- the beast continued its approach. Tucked low on its haunches, the foul smelling creature readied itself for the launch that would deliver a five-star meal into its mouth. The children were still blissfully unaware of the terror that awaited them, now having moved on to discussing rather passionately who’s parent had better cooking. 

With a growl that sounded like thunder cracking, the beast leapt. The girls screamed. And what ensued next was almost too fast for the monster, Mor, and Clara to register.

Claws dripping with venom sank into Mor’s chest and just as suddenly as Mor’s life was sniffed out, Clara exploded with a fierce ripple of darkness and obliterated the monster. Shock filled her as she ran to her friend’s side, her only friend, her only companion. She could not lose her like this. There had to be some way to save her, some way to fix the gaping gashes that laid bare Mor’s heart-and perhaps her soul too. 

It did not matter that her father materialized almost instantly when Clara screamed for a second time, nor did it matter when Mor’s tiny lifeless body was brought to the court healer, nor did it matter when Clara’s mother wrapped her in her arms and promised to never let go. Clara had lost, even though the beast was gone, Clara had failed where Mor had needed her most.

***

“Are you nervous? This is a big day, and the way you handle yourself in there matters. They won’t let you redo this, if you walk in there showing any sign of weakness, they will tear you apart. It won’t matter that you’re their crown-princess, that someday you’ll be Queen. Clara, this is important. You have to understand that, if nothing else,” the Queen’s words were harsh, but they rang true. 

“I understand. I am ready, as ready as I’ll ever be. I have faced a monster worse than death, I lost her. I think I can handle the court of nightmares, after all, what am I the princess of if not that?” Clara’s response was calm, but like the wind it cut through the warmth like the knife she wore tucked under her dress. Her mother nodded, adding the finishing touches to her coronation getup. A necklace, with a diamond _M_, strung on a silver chain, tucked under the high collar of her floor-length midnight black dress -so black that it could have swallowed the stars- and finally the crown, which the Queen tucked gently into Clara’s raven hair.

Today would indeed be special. The nightmare princess ascending her throne. Every single member of the court under the mountain would attend, both out of curiosity and the fact that attendance was not optional.

Entering from the enormous doors cut into the face of the mountain, the family entered. First, her father -the king, imposing in his dark jacket with silver stitching and his crown of stars- and then her mother -the queen, in a backless gown that sparkled with every step and a crown wreathed in shadows- and last, the princess -regal as ever, face set in stone and her own crown practically ablaze against the darkness she shrouded herself in. Walking down the long promenade, her people on either side pressing in, trying to get a good look at her, she thought only of Mor and of how she wasn’t here. Thought only of the friend she had lost, of the wounds that had been inflicted on her. She used these nightmarish memories to set her face into the immovable, unshakable sneer it had to be if she wanted to be respected here.

Her parents stood at the end of the hall now, watching as she took the last steps up onto the dais. Joining them at their thrones, as she stood before her own. A fine seat, hewn out of obsidian and adorned with gems as large as the moon, a seat fit for a princess, her throne. 

Finally, she turned to face the people under the mountain that she and Mor had always wondered about. And they were the stuff of nightmares, but she was not frightened. Because she knew nightmares, because she had stared down their ugly rearing heads and survived. But Mor had not, and so she had become that very monster that had taken Mor’s life. 

She had become the nightmare.


	17. Day 17-Light

The cries of the newborn babe echoed through the halls of the great stone castle on the hill. The mother lay exhausted on her resplendent bed, the pillows damp with her sweat and blood. The father stood anxiously, his crown forgotten in the throne room, as he awaited his daughter. Midwives and court physicians hurried in and out of the royal chambers, some with only an air of importance and others with true purpose. 

At the other end of the castle, in the servants’ chambers, another child struggled out of its mother’s womb. The mother was alone, and the babe was not wailing like its royal twin. Instead, the two stared at each other in wonder; the woman shocked at the intelligent eyes of the child in her arms, and the baby taking in the world with watchful disdain. Her clear blue irises took in the ancient tumbling bricks and skimmed over the swampy corners of the room. The mother knew that babes did not have their eyes open this early, but perhaps it was sign. A sign of magic, of clairvoyance, the gift of prophecy and sight that could see through the fog of the present and into the clarity of the future. And while the King’s daughter had been born plain, the chambermaid’s infant had been born with a grace higher than any noble. 

***

Scrubbing dutifully away at the piss-pot’s stain, Gwendolyn allowed her mind to wander. It was work like this, where she was just repeating the same monotonous task over and over again like a wine glass constantly being refilled, when her gift was easiest to access. And it was why she spent so much time in the servant’s quarters where she had been born, though there was no necessity for it-Morgan had made this very clear. But if she was to perform her duties to the King and to her princess, she needed to see further than just the next few turns of the hourglass or chimes of the church tower. She needed to lose herself so completely in the repetition of her chore, that while her body was occupied, her mind could drift away and into the promises of tomorrow.

Not everything that Gwen saw came true, but enough did that it made good sense to warn the King about coming droughts or wars with border clans. Of course, her gift was sometimes put to less than relevant use, like when the princess wanted to know whether a visiting prince would like the green or the purple gown more. And sometimes those visions were fun, a rest from the more serious work of keeping her people safe and well fed.

This particular Thursday morning, she was busying herself with the coming month’s events. The princess was being named heir -the queen having been declared barren by Gwen a little over a fortnight ago, much to the people’s chagrin- and she was in charge of making sure that all went according to the elaborate plans.

***

The ceremony was a long sort of procedure, with many rambling speeches from the minister and the king and even the court jester. Then came the actual crowning itself, which all went just as Gwen had seen it, the only delight that she could find in it was the fact that the nobles on either side of her kept sending her rude looks as she mumbled the words to the coronation just moments before they came out of the old minister’s mouth. Then came the part they had all been waiting for: the feast.

Raucous dancing and jubilant singing, everyone had been invited to celebrate the princess-or at any rate to enjoy the food and drink, of which there were copious amounts. The king sat, already more than thoroughly inebriated, on his throne and watched the party-goers with a red cheeked smile. The queen sat beside him, lovingly waving away the page who tried to bring the king another flagon of wine. The tables had been moved to the sides of the great hall and people danced to the quartet’s jaunty tunes. The celebration -as Gwendolyn had known it would be- was a smashing success. Even with the princess would enjoy herself, though she had been slightly apprehensive of how many people her mother had invited.

Morgan stood by one of the columns, letting the peasants and nobles alike whirl across the marble floor in flurries of color like flocks of spring birds in mating season. Her own dress was not brightly colored, instead it was a muted grey with silver gauze and stitching that made it glow like dawn on a winter day. Gwen had chosen it, telling her that all would envy it-Morgan knew that she had lied, and that she was wearing the dress because it was Gwen’s favorite. But Morgan did not mind, whatever pleased Gwen pleased her to, and so she stood in the billowing gown waiting for someone to ask her to dance.

Gwendolyn was moving through the crowd, searching for the princess. Or rather, making her way to where she knew she would find Morgan standing. She was ever so slightly drunk on wine and had every intention of asking her to dance. 

As Gwen wove her way through the crowd easily -she knew where people were going to step next, a rather handy quality that kept her from looking as clumsy as she really was- Morgan watched her. Waiting for the approach that she had not needed Gwen’s second sight to see, she adjusted her dress ever so slightly and checked her breath to make sure that it still smelled like strawberries and lavender.

Having finally arrived in front of Morgan, Gwen held out a hand towards the princess.

“May I have this dance, your highness?”

“You already know the answer, don’t you Gwen?” Morgan smiled back, slipping her hand into the outstretched one before Gwen could change her mind.

“Of course, but I could have pretended that I didn’t if it would have pleased you, Mor,” Gwen replied, already sweeping Morgan out into the whirlwind of revelers. Their timing was perfectly on beat -which had nothing to do with Gwen’s ability, of course- and almost instantly took the center of the floor. 

***

They slipped into Morgan’s chambers while the party still roared on below them. Up here in the eastern tower, the halls were quiet, the only sound breaking through the stillness was their laughter. But that soon ceased as they fell, exhausted, into the large bed, allowing the feathered pillows to soak up all the weariness that came from dancing in satin slippers and gauze that seemed to weigh as much as a knight’s armor. They would have all morning tomorrow to continue where they had left off, now each girl dreamed only of a star-less sky. Where Gwen’s dreams were usually filled with prophecy, they now quieted-perhaps muted by Morgan’s reassuring presence.

Waking to the soft twittering of a lark in the distance, Gwen sat up among the blankets and sheets and pillows. Beside her, somewhere under all the bedding, was Morgan; the princess snoring softly as she lay in her slumber. 

Gwen had drunk far too much of the elderberry wine during the feasting and was now paying the price with a terrible need to use the chamber-pot beneath the armoire on the other side of the chambers. The dash across the ice cold stones was a maddened one-driven purely by need. Relieving herself of the fermented berry juice, the clairvoyant attempted to see when Morgan would wake, not wanting her princess to see her like this: crouched above the porcelain pot in a most humiliating position. Fortunately, she did not need her foresight though, and made it back across the room just as the first rays of dawn began to fill the room and Morgan began to rise.

And by the morning’s soft light Gwen saw only her princess. Crown still glittering in her tumbling locks, and that dress -the one Gwen had chosen herself, lying about what the suitors would prefer- that followed Morgan’s curves more perfectly than the bargemen followed the river, she was like a vision herself. But Gwen had not seen this in a vision, and she could see no vision beyond the one in front of her. 

“Gwen, what can you see? Tell me,” Morgan asked, her voice tinkling like little faerie bells and her gentle smile teasing terribly.

“I see only you, only you and the rising sun. And you are the more radiant of the two, not a doubt in my mind lays there,” Gwendolyn hoped that her answer would be taken seriously by the youthful princess -who was of course the same age as Gwen, but somehow still lacked the years that came with looking ahead.

“You spoil me, Gwen,” Morgan knelt on the bed before her, returning the loving gaze. “Don’t ever stop.”

And with that she pulled Gwen in, meeting her lips as the first true sun rays pierced through the window pane, and Gwen could still only see her.


	18. Day 18-Procession

The streets were empty. Which meant that Katja had to be more vigilant in order to stay out of the guards’ sight. It seemed strange to her; normally there were people bustling through this part of town on their way to market or the castle. But today, it seemed like not a soul was out-besides the prowling armored figures and herself. 

Her boots sounded awfully loud as they scuffed against the stone pavement and every little skitter of pebbles as she moved over the loose road made her skin crawl. If the guards caught her, everything would be over. Her mission would fail, and her kingdom would fall. And she could not let that happen.

Making her way around a corner, she ducked behind a cart -left abandoned in the street by some merchant. The clanking of a guard’s metal boot slowed as she held her breath. She had no interest in staining her cloak in blood prematurely and hoped that the guard would continue the other way. Still, her knife was out and gripped tightly in her left hand. 

“There’s nothing here. Whole town ’s at the other end of the city anyways. Not sure why command keeps having us do these pointless sweeps. The assassin is long gone by now anyways,” the stopped guard said to his comrades down at the other end of the cobbled street. Katja listened with curiosity as another guard replied.

“Hey, remember what Captain Daris said about discussing sensitive information in the open like this. That’s how the assassin got in, or have you forgotten what happened already?”

The guard on the other side of the cart said something that Katja couldn’t hear, but the two moved on to join the rest of their group without saying anything else. Waiting until they were around the next corner, she continued to hurry her way along the silent streets. If they knew about an assassin then she had to move quickly, because unbeknownst to the guards she was far from long gone.

Making her way down another side street, she could begin to see the roofs of the castle towers and began to slow her approach-stealth was imperative to this mission after all. There were only two sentries at the castle gates and Katja would be able to make quick work of them. Her second knife was quickly pulled out of its sheath as she walked briskly through the shadows, letting her the hood of her cloak fall low over her brow. She was so close. Just through the gate, across the courtyard and up the tower stairs into the queen’s chambers and she would be finished. This job would fetch her big enough a prize to keep her out of this business for good. 

***

The queen lay on a bed of velvet. Her golden hair spread out around her head like a halo and her crown, a delicate band of silver, sat in it with a precise effortlessness. A soft silken gown, that almost glowed against the cold grey sky, clung to her pale skin. Embroidery ran down the neckline, a shining silver thread that matched the circlet in her tresses. Her fingers were devoid of the typical rings and the once bitten down nails were smooth and shiny. She looked beautiful as her people gazed upon her. Some reached out to touch her, attempting to get a hand past the guard that surrounded her. 

Katja tried to see over the crowd, not knowing what lay at its center, nor knowing the cause for this procession. The empty streets had given away to ones so packed with people there was hardly room to step, and here it did not matter if the guards saw her-there would be no discerning her purpose from anyone else’s.

Stretching onto her toes, she strained to get above the crowd-to no avail. Scanning the street lined with shops and houses and two taverns, she caught sight of an outcropping. The edge of a rooftop jutted out and Katja was already making her way against the tide of people to get a better vantage point. 

Swinging herself up, she got a handhold on the cool stone. The next step was easy, pulling the rest of her body up she now peered down at the long line of people. What she saw nearly made her tumble from her perch.

Outstretched hands reached for the queen, a cluster of knights surrounding her. The parade was more than just some somber state affair: it was a funeral procession. 

Her eyes were closed, and a sword lay in her hands. The faintest hint of red still blossomed from her bosom and stained her cream colored robe, matching the crimson velvet beneath her. Her crown was still on her head, but she was powerless now. The majestic queen who had once seemed like the strongest woman in the kingdom know seemed little more than a child. Death having reduced her to a husk of the resplendent glory that had once encompassed her, and her people now turned to despair as their ruler lay deaf to their cries.

It seemed that Katja had failed and her much needed gold would not make it into her desperate hands. No, the queen would not be making any payments now. 

Pulling her cloak tight around her, Katja made her escape across the rooftops, this time not caring who saw her. The queen was dead, and someone truly long gone was responsible. Reward or no, Katja was not going to let a queen killer live-especially not when the young princess was betrothed to her own brother…


	19. Day 19-Throne

Sitting in the tavern, the young woman mulled over her mug of ale. Her interest was in the chatter of the drunken clientele, but the attention she was currently giving her tankard was genuine. It was good ale, the kind that you normally didn’t find in a tavern in the middle of nowhere like this and Katja was pleasantly surprised. As she swung back another gulp of the spiced drink, a hooded figure caught her eye. Alone at the back of the crowded room, they nursed their own cup of ale and much like Katja were scanning the populace with a sharp eye.

Knowing that time was running out, she rose from her own empty table and skirted her way around the many drunk people, coming to a stop in front of the figure and pulling back her own hood. Underneath the long cloak, her hand tightened around the hilt of the ornate dagger. The figure continued to draw from their tankard, not at all interested in the confrontation that was sure to come. Then, almost too quiet for Katja to hear, the figure spoke.

“Sit, and tell me what it is you are hunting,” they gestured languidly at the chair opposite them and added, “And do put away that knife of yours. It will do neither of us any good to act as enemies when we have more in common than you believe.”

Too shocked to do anything but sit down, Katja released her grip on the knife and stared at the person opposite her. Their hood was still pulled low, but something about their voice felt familiar. Beneath the table she felt a foot touch hers; flinching, she looked up, trying to figure out who it was that sat across from her. Then they spoke again, and this time a shiver ran down Katja’s spine as she recognized the voice.

“In a moment we are going to be ambushed, you are going to go right. Through the bar and out the back door, there a horse is waiting. Bring it out front and wait for me. Do you understand?” Katja’s breath shuddered, but she gave a quick nod. Then the tavern exploded in a flurry of movements and shouting.

Kicking into action, Katja threw her chair backwards, ducking under a whizzing arrow and rolling away from the table. The next steps came easily as she leapt over the bar, glasses shattering as more arrows followed her. Then she slammed her way through the door, running at breakneck speed through the small kitchen and past the bartender’s wife. Standing calmly by the rear door was a black mount, just as the figure had said. The sounds of wood splintering and the thud of more arrows hitting the wall spurred her back into action and she swung herself up onto the horse with ease. 

Pushing the horse into motion, they galloped around the side of the building and nearly ran into the hooded figure from before. The horse slowed to a stop and Katja offered out her hand, helping swing the person up behind her. The dark of the night pressed around them as Katja gave a squeeze of her boots and the steed began to run again, carrying them away from the tavern and towards the safety of the darkness.

***

Her sister was dead, her throat having been pierced by an arrow just five days ago. And now her advisers already wanted her to ascend to the throne, to take her beloved sister’s place and rule even though she was just a child. Amara watched the court below her preparing for the coronation, her sister’s throne -imposing as ever- sitting at the far end of the great hall. She could still hardly believe all of this had happened. What was supposed to have been her wedding to the young duke’s son was now her sister’s funeral and her own rise to power-power that she was not yet ready for. And somewhere out there, the killer was still lurking, still responsible for the death of the queen.

***

The horse slowed, bringing the cloaked pair to a soft stop at the edge of the forest, the queensroad stretching out before them. They had ridden all night, leaving their attackers far behind and getting closer to the princess-soon to be queen. All of Katja’s tracking of the assassin had led her far south, but now they returned to the castle. Her companion, only now as they slid of the horse and set up camp off the side of the road, let the hood fall, revealing a set of mismatched eyes -one deep blue and the other dark gold- and a flowing russet mane. 

“Mare, I thought you were dead…I thought Daris had, had sent a sword through your heart… I,” Katja stumbled over her words, the thoughts that had been swirling through her mind -growing ever hopeful with every stride the horse had taken- were now confirmed. Her lover was not dead. Somehow, she had escaped that night, when Katja had lost everything. Not only Mare, but also her inheritance and her brother. The night when her father had turned on her, throwing her out onto the streets to fend for herself, and making her into the killer she now was.

Now Mare stood, very much alive, before Katja and it felt as though her heart might burst with joy. Wasting little time, she closed the gap between them and the two embraced for what felt both like eternity and yet also only the blink of an eye. Then she pulled them apart, questions still running through her mind.

“How did you know about the ambush? My hunt? How did you escape?” Mare waited patiently for Katja to finish and then responded softly.

“I took shelter in the blacksmith’s home, where his daughter nursed me back to health. Then I fled the city and tried to find you, but the rumors were misleading and the only real news I’d heard was that your brother was getting betrothed to the princess. The first piece of information about you was when the blacksmith’s daughter saw you at the funeral procession for the queen. I’ve spent the last five days tracking you down, but you’re too good at hiding your own trail. The ambush was easy; I saw an archer at the window when you came in, and I always leave my horse round back.” Mare closed the distance that had come between them as she spoke and pulled Katja in for a kiss; their lips were practiced, finding each other again easily. Katja had forgotten how much she needed this contact; how much she had craved it in Mare’s absence. The hard shell that she had built around herself these past three years melted away into the burning love she had always felt for the young woman finally in her arms again.

***

The man stalking down the hall looked angry and the servants scurried past him as quickly as they could. In one hand he held a letter, informing him of the failed attack on the assassin; the other was curled into a tight fist, dripping with rage. How had she escaped his clutches once again? How was it that ten of the best hunters in the kingdom could not catch on measly little girl, especially when she was on her own. His lavish brocade jacket did little to keep the cold out as he made his way across the courtyard, but he did not need the warmth as his own burning anger rushed through his veins. He could not let this foolish girl ruin everything that he had worked for, and even though she had failed to protect the old queen, he knew that she would fight twice as hard to protect the new one.

***

Packing up their camp with military efficiency -though in truth there wasn’t much to pack- Katja and Mare found their seats on the black stallion and started back on the queensroad. The castle, and the princess within it, was little over an hour’s ride away and both women knew that timing was crucial. If the assassin made it to the young princess before they did, then the kingdom would be left defenseless-especially if the union between Katja’s brother and the queen-to-be had not yet taken place.

Mare’s arms were wrapped snuggly around Katja’s waist and every so often she would press kisses against her cheek, warming her as the wind whipped around them with icy blows. They rode in silence, not because they had nothing to say to each other -there was plenty of things Katja wanted to whisper into Mare’s ear- but because the roaring of the wind made it near impossible to hear. The occasional sound of the horse neighing or the clacking of his hooves against the sporadically cobbled road being the only thing that broke the wind-whipping silence. The minutes passed into ten and then into twenty and soon the whole hour had ticked away, and they could hear the city bell tolling in the distance.

They would have to leave their horse at the city gates, the shadowy steed too attention drawing with its shiny coat and dark eyes. Their approach would have to be by foot-their exit too. For even if they succeeded in taking down the princess’s would-be-killer Katja’s father would still chase them out of the city.

***

Amara strode down the aisle, making her way with shaking steps towards the great throne, hoping that she would be able to fill it the way her sister had. Her betrothed stood by its side already, awaiting her with a hint of a smile. The nobles, including the duke, lined the hall and watched her as she approached the dais. 

Above, watching like guardian angels, were Katja and Mare. The latter with an arrow knocked into her bow and the former with a knife ready to throw in her grip. This time Katja would be in time, this time she would save the queen…


	20. Day 20-Iris

Everything was in place and the princess was making her way down the aisle right on time. In mere moments, an arrow -kin to the one that had taken the former queen’s life- would slice through the air and into the princess’s exposed throat. With the end of her life, he would be able to swoop in as the savior, the burdened prince having just lost his betrothed, and now dutifully taking the heavy weight of the crown. The bells started to toll, ringing out twelve times to signal that it was noon-the signal for the lethal arrow that would make him king.

Up in the balcony, the archer’s body slid to the floor with a dull thump. An ornate knife buried in his chest and two women staring down at his lifeless form. Mare’s golden eye honed in on his garb, marking the symbol on the brooch and scanning for any other signs of his identity. This dead man did not seem the sort to go about killing queens. The falcon on his badge marked him as one of the Mountain Guard-a band of highly trained assassins who supposedly only worked for the good. Something like this was not within their usual line of work, meaning someone had offered an insanely large sum or this man was not of the Mountain Guard at all-an imposter to throw Katja and Mare off the true mastermind behind all of this. 

Below, Amara made her way up the stairs, finally reaching the imposing stone throne. The duke’s son stood frozen; his smile vanished in mere seconds as he realized that the princess would not be meeting an untimely death like her elder sister. 

That was also the moment when Katja realized who was the one after the princess. The bow in the archer’s hand was one she recognized with shocking intimacy. Her father had had it commissioned seven winters ago, as a Yuletide gift, wrapped in silks and a leather jerkin that had matching engraving on it-a stag in full prance, in the midst of a grove of ash trees. It was her brother’s. 

***

Mare watched Katja start, as her eyes widened in shock-in pain. Her gold eye blazing as she came to the same realization as Katja, though it took her slightly longer as the household from which it had come had only been her home for two years. Then she turned her own arrow on Katja’s brother, readying it as she stood over her love-shielding her. 

“No. Don’t, not yet,” Katja held out a hand, staying the bow. She could hardly believe that her own brother was responsible for the queen’s death, that he had attempted to murder his own betrothed. She also could hardly believe what she did next. 

Taking the bow from the dead archer’s grip she nocked the black feather tipped arrow, pulling it back as far as it would go. Her aim was true, and the tip sunk deep into her brother’s shoulder. The crowd of nobles gasped, pulling backwards, away from the dais and the doubled over prince.

Then, pulling Mare with her, she hurried down the stairs and came to stand before her brother, confronting him for all to see.

“You would have the princess murdered, traitor. You had the queen killed. All of this, just for your own power! You’re a coward and I can’t let you live. For the crown and for my kingdom…” her eyes burned with anger and anguish and Mare could see the tears slipping down her heated cheeks.

“Katja, don’t do this, please,” the prince begged her, on his knees and clutching the shaft of the arrow buried deep in his shoulder, “Please, I’m your brother.”

Something broke behind her eyes, and then she threw up a wall of viciousness. 

“You are no brother of mine. And you haven’t been since the day you let your father kick me out onto the streets. You have committed treason and with the approval of the queen I will sentence you to die.”

Katja threw a glance at Amara, the young queen was trembling but still found the will to give Katja a nod. The order having been given, Katja raised her knife -the handle engraved the same prancing stag insignia of their house- and sliced through her brother’s throat. 

Mare easily took out her father, another arrow ending his life quickly as he tried to run at Katja’s exposed back. All the while the other nobles looked on with fear. Then the bloodshed stopped, and everything grew still.

Amara rose from her place, cowering on the ground, and strode to the throne-trying desperately to maintain some sort of composure. With a sort of heavy sigh, she sank into the great stone thing and said softly to the crowd, “I suppose I am the queen now.” 

Katja smiled and knelt before the young queen.

“Yes, you are. And it would be my pleasure to serve you.”

Mare knelt beside her, wondering at the sudden shift in her love. But she knew there were still tears, long hours of raging at what this world had done to her, grief -mourning- for her brother, the brave face that Katja was now wearing would fall away as soon as they were alone. But for now, Mare would stand -or rather kneel- with her. And behind them the rest of the hall knelt too. For the new queen, and for the two young heroines who had saved her.


	21. Day 21-Wings

She had been born on a remarkably windy day. Her eggshell cracking in thin long spiderwebs, as the nest shook in the gale. Her mother had been sitting on it for months, occasionally trading off with her father or one of her older sisters so that she could go out and stretch her feathers. When her father sat on her egg, he would talk to her-something none of the others did. They were under the impression that she couldn’t hear them, but she could, and she got bored curled up in her shell all day for what seemed like eternity. Now her egg was breaking though, and soon she would be able to feel the breeze ruffle her deep blue-green feathers, the way her father always told her about.

She was not the only one growing excited about the coming hatching; naturally, her entire family was in uproar. Her grandmother preening all nine of her older siblings while her grandfather looked on amused, her mother already preparing to regurgitate her latest meal -a codfish, straight from the Baltic sea- with a delighted look on her face as she could taste the buttery fish again, and her father with eyes bright, tears glistening in them as he awaited his beautiful baby girl.

Their whole tree shook in the gusty winds, but they knew it would hold as it had for hundreds of years. And if it didn’t, they had wings. The short flight to the ground wouldn’t bother them in the slightest. The fledgling still trapped in her shell cage stretched her wings against the cream colored walls, pushing hard in an attempt to free herself from the barrier between her and the wind. She could feel it calling her, could practically taste its cool, fresh taste the way her mother could taste the cod held lovingly in her mouth. Preparing herself, she shoved again; this time the cracks splintered, and chunks of the shell began to fall away. The wind came and lifted pieces away, aiding her in her jail break until she could finally stretch her wings to the sky, unhindered and ruffled by the wind.

***

_Sixteen years later…_

There hadn’t been a storm like this one since the day she was born. And today, under the darkening sky, she was celebrating her coming of age. She would fly to the eye of the storm to prove her mettle on the winds to her family and to the rest of her coven. _Their people had once called themselves murders, but this had not gone over well with the other beings of their world and so the word coven was adopted._ Then she would return with a feather plucked straight from the Ancient One-who lived in the center of the storm with her wife, the seabird. Having completed all this, she would receive her first stripe -a thin black line under her left wing- that would mark her as an adult. Today would be special, and she could feel it, the way she had felt when her hatching was near.

Her father would fly out to the swirling mass of grey laying over the sea, but he could go no further. The rest she would have to do alone.

Standing over the edge of the cliff, Maira extended her feathery appendages out into the tempest. She could feel every inch of her body in the wind, from the top of her head to her tail feathers-fanned out behind her in a dazzling array of turquoise, sea blue, and gold. Her dark hair was braided back, shot through with streaks the same hue as her feathers, and it was tied at the end with a tinkling gold bell on a delicate chain. A simple stud sat in her delicate nose, allowing her shift from mouth to beak easily. And when her wings were not out, she wore heavy set bangles that helped her control the change. Her bare skin was covered only by a tight leotard of black that would keep her warm as soon as she made the leap into the sky. Her father stood next to her, waiting for her to make the first move.

She looked back once, seeing her family waiting at further back, all of them with their own black stripes. Then she leapt, flaring her wings out wide and catching a cool draft that took her high up into the thunderous sky.

At her side, her father kept easy pace with her and offered some shield against the rain that was beginning to come down in droves. They both focused on the massive swirl of lightning ahead of them-this flight so at odds with the ones they usually had.

_He had taught her how to fly. Guiding her to the edge of the nest, only hours after she had slurped down the sweet cod from her mother’s beak, he could hardly wait to see his little hatchling fly. Something told him that she would be a fast learner, and perhaps a fast flyer too. Some of her other sisters had not taken to wing quickly, instead they had to be coaxed with their mother’s careful wing to the very edge of the branch and then with encouragement from the promise of more fish had cautiously practiced gliding from one branch to another. But not Maira, she had leapt with near blind faith after her father, somehow trusting in the wind and her own -still slime covered, but fully fledged- wings. _

_And how she had flown, how she had flown! Maira had been more of a natural than any her father had ever seen; the two of them flying all over the archipelago they called home with more freedom than either of them had ever felt._

Now neither of them spared more than a glance at the other; concentration was key in these harrowing conditions. The casual banter that would often ensue stayed dead silent, but it was still comforting to have her father at her side, still comforting to know that -for now- she was not alone.

Then he dropped away, they were too close to the storm. Maira would have to find the Ancient One’s feather herself.

***

It was quiet, even quieter then when she had been flying with her father. There at least the wind had been roaring in her ears and the rain had been smacking against her feathers, now all of that had fallen away. She was left in a stillness worse than death, trapped within a swirling column of lightning and blasting wind. For a moment, fear froze her, and she felt herself begin to plummet, towards the churning sea below and certain icy death. Then with a surge of urgency and surety, Maira rose on strong wing beats, leaving the ocean beneath her and reaching for the sky above.

She searched the air around her and the sky above her, desperately trying to find some sort of Ancient One with a feather for her to steal. But she saw nothing but emptiness. Dread filled her gut, maybe she was not worthy. Maybe she would now fail where generations of her family had not. Maybe she would be forced to stay, in the elders’ eyes, a child forever. 

This could not be true; this could not happen to her. So, she strained her eyes and scanned the calm within the storm again. And again. And even a fourth time, she searched, hoping that some great winged thing would reveal itself to her. But nothing appeared, and her strength was waning. Her left wing dipped lower than it should have and caught in the tornado of wind. There was a horrible wrenching sensation and she thought her arm had caught fire, so bad was the pain that shot through her. She let loose a terrified shriek, hoping that her father would hear, as she fell in earnest now. 

Her wing was broken. Her left wing was broken, its feathers sticking out at odd ends and that awful pain shooting through it like lightning strikes. She tried to throw it out, to catch the wind with it, even though she couldn’t muster a flap out of it. To hell with the Ancient One, she thought. All she wanted was to get out of here, stupid feather or no. 

The sea kept getting closer, her wing still useless. Her father could either not hear her or could not pass through the barrier of wind. And still she fell towards the waves. As she fell, she saw something floating down lazily above her. Blinking fiercely, she stared at it until she realized what it was: one of her own feathers. Striped with gold, it was a deep blue-green one that had probably been ripped out of her left wing. Not thinking, she reached out to grab it, and as she did a sweep of wind came beneath her and caught her, lifting her upwards and out of the storm.

Her father was instantly at her side, supporting her with his own wing and ferried on the wind to the safety of the cliff and home. All the while, she still clutched her feather, hoping that it would pass as the Ancient One’s. 

Waiting solemnly for her on the cliff was the rest of her family, their worried faces now breaking into relief as they saw the two of them approach. Her grandmother easily splinted her wing, not even ruffling a feather about it and her grandfather took the feather with expectant claws. 

Maira held her breath as he examined it with beady eyes, wondering if he would call her out on her failure. Then, after a long while, he held it up to the sun that was breaking through the clouds and squawked softly.

“Congratulations, Maira. It seems you are worthy of your stripe. May the Ancient One always be with you.”

She let out the breath, relieved that her struggle had paid off, and that even though she had failed to bring back the Ancient One’s feather, her own was good enough. 


	22. Day 22-Summer

Rue was happier than she’d been in a long time. She had dumped her boyfriend -a total douche bag named Thresh (which idiot calls their son that anyways), who’d been cheating on her with the baker’s daughter- and had finished high school -a total waster of time in her opinion, seeing as everyone in District 11 went into farming anyways- and was now free for the summer. Completely, and absolutely free. Well, except for the impending doom of the Reapings. But this was her last year, her name was only in the allotted amount of times -her family had always had enough food, their father made sure of it- and once it was over, she would never have to worry herself with it again. 

And as her first act of freedom, she would start with dumping the contents of her school bag in the dumpster before her. Her notebooks and used up pens clattered with a satisfying noise to the bottom of the metal trash can, her backpack -worn out in the edges and ripped in one spot- followed with a decided toss. Then she strode with bouncing steps towards the central road, heading towards town and away from the wretched place she had called school.

***

The town was celebrating the begin of the summer harvest season and preparations for the party were in full swing. Lights were being strung across the city square, the baker was slaving away at a mountain of cakes and pastries, and everyone was putting out their finest dress-even finer than what they wore on Sundays. Rue was helping her father set up a booth with their finest fruits and vegetables proudly on display. If tonight went well, perhaps they would be able to sell for a pretty penny and then Rue would be able to get that goat she’d been eyeing every Saturday for the last seven weeks. The farmer had been holding onto her just for Rue, and with the goat she would be able to make her own cheese-just the thought made her salivate. Rue would kill for a good cheese, well, not actually, but she really did want that goat.

Under the fading sun her skin glowed and every curl in her hair seemed like it was on fire, Thresh was probably jealous right now-the baker’s daughter was dull, with not an ounce of shine in her dirty blonde scraggle of hair and only a handful of boring freckles smattered across her pale cheeks. Rue still wondered how she could have been with a guy who had chosen that hot mess over her, but she would put that aside for now. She had no time for boys who made poor choices, only for the customers who might get her one precious coin closer to the pretty little she-goat across the square. So, she made sure that the booth was perfect, with lanterns lighting a path up to a delightful array of strawberries, watermelons, peaches, grapes and vegetables too, sweet corn, pumpkins and crisp peppers. There would be no way anyone would walk past the mouth watering display of fresh fruit and vegetables.

***

As the heap of the summer season began to dwindle, Rue could practically feel the goat get closer to her. Every coin that plinked into the glass jar in front of her getting her closer to her creamy dreams of goat’s milk and cheese and the yogurt she planned on making her mama. Across the square the goat grazed on a patch of grass, every now and then nibbling on a dandelion or taking an ear of corn from a passing child. Then someone approached the booth, someone Rue had not expected.

“Rue, baby, I messed up. I-” But Rue would hear none of it, swiftly interrupting him, she practically spat back.

“I don’t care. Now unless you plan on buying something and helping me get closer to that goat over there, move along and go kiss your fucking pastry behind some dumpster or something.” Thresh looked like someone had stepped on his balls-Rue knew exactly what that face looked like because she had done it just last week, and she hadn’t felt even the tiniest bit sorry.

“No, seriously, listen to me. Rue, please, I want to make it better,” he looked up at her now with pleading eyes and deep down some part of her wanted to let him back in, but the other part -the larger part- wanted to stomp on his balls again.

“I mean it. Thresh, if you don’t get your ass out of here, I’m gonna make you wish you’d never been born. I’ll make that shit the girl from two with the teeth last year did look tame, you catch my drift?” This was pissing Rue off. All she wanted to do was enjoy her summer, and that included her goat-not the ex she couldn’t wait to get away from.

Thresh opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought the better of it. He walked away, the lantern light illuminating his eyes softly and if she had still been dating him, maybe she would have found it cute. But she wasn’t, and the only thing she wanted from him was for him to scooch his stupid butt out of there faster.

She watched his back, but not for long because she had coins to count and a goat to buy.

***

“How much for the goat?”

“Depends on how much you got. I’m actually saving her for the girl at the harvest booth over there, good lass called Rue. Unless you got something a lot better than what she’s offering, I’m afraid it’s still her goat,” the farmer looked down at the boy who had just asked to buy Rue’s goat. He looked about Rue’s age and the farmer had absolutely no idea what he wanted with the goat. 

“I got, lemme see…fifty,” the boy peered up at the farmer nervously, hoping that it would be enough. It was his entire two months’ earnings from his evening shift at the neighbor’s wheat fields and it was supposed to have been for his garden patch, but now it would be for Rue’s goat. Maybe, just maybe, he could win her back and this goat was the only way he knew how-part of why she had dumped him, he’d never been particularly creative.

“Hmmmf, I don’t really feel all too good about this. It really is Rue’s goat at this point, but you’re offering ’s better. I suppose…I suppose she’s yours,” the farmer handed over the rope on which the goat was attached with a sort of uncomfortable fuzzy feeling in his gut. He hadn’t lied when he’d said it was more Rue’s goat than his, she’d been taking care of her for the past two months after all and had begged him not to sell her. But the boy’s offer was just too good, and his own daughters could use the extra food and maybe a new pair of shoes.

***

Rue looked up from her counting and felt a sudden sinking feeling when she couldn’t see the goat across the square anymore. Had she not gotten her money together fast enough, had the farmer packed up for the night, had she been sold to someone with a higher offer? She wanted that goat more than anything, and she had the thirty coins. It wouldn’t be fair for the goat to be sold or gone now, not when she was this close.

Then the goat came back into her sight, a little too close into her sight as someone held her up right in front of her face. 

“Here’s your goat.”

Thresh nearly shoved the goat into her lap as if he were some school child on Christmas holding out a present. She took the goat quickly, not wanting him to drop her or take her back in some cruel joke.

Tentatively she probed. “What do you mean, my goat?”

“I mean exactly what I said. I fucked up and I want you back. And I know you wanted the goat, so I got you the goat. If you just want to take the goat and never speak to me again, that’s fine too. But I love you Rue, I really do. And I want you back. I won’t ever look at no baker’s daughter ever again and I promise to take you out on romantic dates like Becky Hilginger and…” Thresh trailed off, his eyes were full of remorse and Rue wished that she had it in her heart to forgive him. She really did, but she just didn’t have it in her. She couldn’t unsee him entwining tongues with the stupid pastry blonde from town, it just made her see red. So, she took the goat and the jar of coins and walked away. Not even bothering to say anything back to him. He didn’t deserve her words after all.

*** 

Her whole family was crowded on the little couch in the living room in front of the Capitol issued tv, every last one of them on edge except her. Rue sat with her goat in her lap and some cheese in her mouth, not caring at all who won, because she sure as hell wouldn’t be welcoming Thresh home.


	23. Day 23-Mist

This was a big change from Tatooine. But she didn’t mind change, especially when it meant that she could leave Jabba the Hut and his god-awful sandy shit hole behind her. Apparently, he had outrun his political usefulness, and someone would be sent to terminate him soon, but that wasn’t her problem. She was shipping out of here and for all she cared this place could blow itself. 

The lush forest around her was such a relief after the months she had spent spitting out sand every time she went outside or woke up (although that may have been The Hut playing some cruel joke on her). There was actual water, rushing brooks around practically every corner, and the fauna was the cuddly sort-ewoks made for very convenient friends as they were a walking talking furry pillow. And the best part was the food, hands down. The fresh fruit made her smile every time she bit into it-like a little bite of heaven. She shuddered to think of the colorless slop and the mystery meat she had had to suffer through on Tatooine. Yes, this forlorn moon was a million times better than that dump.

She was their resident Jedi. Which didn’t mean much right now. The only thing she watched was the mist, always swirling and holding no answers to her every growing list of questions. _What exactly did the Republic -and more importantly, Master Yoda- want with a Jedi on Endor? Why had they wanted her on Tatooine-that shitbag place where it seemed all she had done was watch Jabba the Hut devour scantily clad women (most of which were not human, so she couldn’t be entirely sure they were women)? And better yet, why had her lover left her for a Sith Lord?_

Yes, she was still pissed off at Vestara for joining that silly Darth Vader or whatever his name was. Sure, their names made them V-squared and how cool was that, but when Vestara had been with her, they had been V8 and that was even fucking cooler. At any rate, Eight had a lot running through her mind as she began her second week on Endor.

***

Vestara was currently watching the Sith lord in front of her with disinterest. His speeches bored her, and she knew that there wasn’t anything actually worth looking at underneath that stupid mask of his-the vocal distortion really drove her crazy, especially when she knew that his vocal cords were fine. The stormtroopers in front of them looked completely enraptured, although she could never tell if they were being genuine or not because of their even more ridiculous masks. She only counted herself lucky that she hadn’t been forced to cover her godly face with a childish face shield, instead, she hid her eyes classily beneath the cowl of a deep red cloak. Her classically beautiful face was reserved for only one person to see, and that person was not here. 

She still couldn’t believe that Yoda had forced her to first be one of Jabba’s girls -at least Eight had gotten to pose as a bounty hunter- and now she had to act like a sitting duck on Vader’s newest toy: the creatively named Death Star. Sometimes she found it hard to believe that Yoda actually had a plan and purpose to all of this, right now especially when she was hundreds of systems away from Eight. How she missed Eight, that girl was like heaven herself. Full of joy and laughter and patience for Yoda’s endless tasks, she seemed to manage the trials and tribulations far better than Vestara could ever hope to. 

The two of them had been brought to Yoda as little girls and he had tried to raise them as sisters-clearly that had backfired since they had been sneaking off to make out in the swamps of Dagobah from the age of fourteen. Other than sparking a love story for the ages, Yoda had also trained them. Eight had also been the better student, but Vestara was now discovering that her espionage and ability to lie were now coming in extremely handy. Even the old emperor -who really looked more like a shriveled up sponge than a human being- couldn’t have guessed that she was still very much a Jedi and that, no she had not suddenly had a change of heart and left her perfect girlfriend to join a geriatric and a cripple. Only thing was, Yoda had forced her into absolute secrecy for this mission -not wanting her cover to be blown if Eight was for some reason captured- and her lie had been so good that her perfect girlfriend now thought she had really turned Sith. Who knew, maybe she was off making out with one of the cute Ewok girls on Endor. (She had overheard a conversation between two particularly chatty stormtroopers about a Jedi they were keeping tabs on in Endor, and from the lack of Jedi in the galaxy and the fact that she had made a fast friendship with the natives it could only be Eight.)

“Vestara, are you coming? The Emperor wanted to speak with us,” the garbled voice that came out of the dumb suit’s mouth snapped Vestara out of her reminiscent thought and it took all of her self-control not to roll her eyes underneath her hood. Speeding up to a brisk pace, she quickly joined Vader as he made his way down the long dark hall.

***

The one thing Endor had in common with Tatooine was that Eight had absolutely nothing to do. At least on Tatooine there had been semi-interesting illegal pod-racing. One could only lose at soccer so many times with the ewoks and long walks through the forest had been nice, but she needed to stay close to the base for reports from the Republic. So, she trained. 

The radio propped up on a nearby rock so that she wouldn’t miss any important communications, she used the mist as a training ground. Imagining that Master Yoda was sipping tea next to the radio, she used the Force to lift rocks and then sent them hurling through the mist-the ewoks had learned quickly to stay far from her training area while she was doing this. Using her lightsaber, she would slice them into neat chunks-the rocks, not the ewoks. All in all, it was a fairly basic training exercise, but it both allowed her to exercise control in the Force and keep her lightsaber skills clean and ever at the ready. Occasionally she asked the ewoks to train with her, but the considerable height advantage that she had on them made hand-to-hand combat boring. And it made her miss Vestara, who was her normal sparring partner-she also couldn’t have a steamy make-out session with her ewok partner afterwards, so there was another downside to being stuck on this remote moon.

Master Yoda would have been proud of her, Vestara would have scoffed and muttered _showoff_ under her breath before slipping under Eight’s guard and kissing her. Funny how she was still colossally pissed at Vestara but also having fantasies about her. Deep down, a part of her didn’t really believe that V had gone all dark side, but that didn’t change the fact that she sure as hell sold it well. She was also immensely pissed at Master Yoda for never clueing any of them in on his grand master plan, but she had learned to roll with that years ago and could easily suppress that anger.

Whirling in the mist, she nearly sliced through an ewok, some of its fur still ending up slightly singed as she brought her green saber to a halt. He just looked at her mildly annoyed though, completely unperturbed at his near death experience, and pointed back towards the base.

“What?” she asked, or rather growled back in the ewoks’ language. He made wild hand gestures and then resorted to a sort of rapid dog noise that took her a moment to translate.

_The stormtroopers have landed near the base. There is news of the Death Star having been spotted just a few miles away from our moon. Yoda says the plan is being sent into action and you should prepare the base for Vestara. He also says to get over yourself and put a ring on it._

Eight rolled her eyes but knew instantly what she had to do. Apparently, this was Yoda’s grand plan. Have Vestara take the Death Star from the inside and her secure the moon from the outside-or rather from the ground. That meant it was finally time for some real lightsaber action and some stormtroopers were about to have a very bad day.

***

By the time that Vestara had finally gotten the signal from Yoda -sometimes she wondered why that green hobgoblin was head of the Rebellion, but then again he had raised her and brought her to Eight- she had already had to sit through an entire tirade from yours truly, the fucking old man himself: Palpatine the empire’s biggest and oldest git. She was going to take pleasure in tearing through his wrinkled neck and those hands that could only belong to a pedophile. (She’d gotten more than a few dirty looks from him in her time here) Sending a ripple through the Force, she extended her purple saber in an almost elegant gesture. The old man didn’t stand a fucking chance.

Vader whirled as he heard his master’s final cry-a pitiful thing that was fitting for a vile creature like him. Not even bothering to protest, he let Vestara pass. Her hood was still pulled up in a rather menacing fashion that she had learned from a fellow Jedi knightess. What came next was going to be a walk in the park after how easily the old man had gone down.

Tearing through those that stood in her way, Vestara cut a path to the shield reactor. Knowing that Yoda had a plan and that he would not fail her, she plunged her lightsaber into the surging light.

***

Eight felt something rip through her chest, something that sure as hell wasn’t a bullet from the lousy shots being fired haphazardly from the white clad troopers. She kept her Force shield drawn up tightly around her so that in the event that the stormtroopers did find their aim by some chance of luck, she didn’t take a hit. There was only one of her and hundreds of soldiers. She would have to investigate the disturbance in the Force later.

Raising her green battle glowstick with renewed fierceness, she threw herself back at the soldiers. This was her moon, and these were her teddy bear friends. Anyone who tried to come between them was going to have another thing coming.

***

The explosion of light blasted through her peripheral, like a supernova. Eight didn’t have the time to concern herself with it, but in her subconscious, she knew. Vestara.

There were too many troopers, striking them down one by one wasn’t going to be a viable option for very long. Then a light, like the one mere seconds ago, went off in her head. The base had a power source, and that power source could be shortcutted the same as any other, with a lightsaber. 

Making a mad dash for the reactor, she swung her saber wildly. All of her training rushed through her veins in one final surge and she threw herself and her lightsaber towards the pulsing light.

***

Off in the swamps of Dagobah Yoda gently laid down his staff. His little girls were grown up now and it was time to join them. Young Skywalker had been spared, but his girls had paid the price. 


	24. Day 24-Enemy

“You hate me, don’t you? You think I’m a monster? That I’m not worth it. But goddammit, I am.” Arden’s tears were falling down her cheeks like a rainstorm, dripping into a flood on her shirt. She still couldn’t believe this was happening, after everything they had been through. After all they had done together, she couldn’t have fathomed this situation in any universe. Things had been going so well. Arden had had plans to move in with Ruby, all the way across the country-just to be with the girl of her dreams. And now it felt like her life was falling apart at the seams.

“No. You’re not, not worth it. Now leave, leave while we’re still friends.” Ruby wasn’t crying, Ruby didn’t seem to care at all. But on the inside, it felt like her heart was ripping in two. They were in her house, on her side of the country. This was supposed to have been the vacation when she would finally propose, when Arden would finally move in. They were supposed to be starting their family in this house soon. And now that she knew what Arden had done, all she could think was why was she still here. Why couldn’t she see how much damage she’d already done and just go.

“Or what?” Arden retorted. She knew Ruby, she might be mad now, but she always came through. This wasn’t really going to happen. Her tears would sway her sweet Ruby, the way they always did. She knew Ruby was the one-even had the ring in her back pocket. Even though she was the one who had hurt Ruby in the first place, she was the one hurting now. And she needed Ruby more than ever now. Things had changed and she needed all the help from Ruby that she could get.

“I’ll make you regret this. Rue this day and the day you were born. Don’t try me.” Her mother always told her that she was drama queen, now Ruby was starting to understand why. The words spewing out of her own mouth sounded like something on the tv. They sounded like what she’d heard other people say during breakups, not like her own. And she felt ashamed, but Arden had fucked up. She had to follow through now, right?

“You’re all talk and no action, I know you. You won’t hurt me, and you’ll come to your senses. I know you will, so just cut it the hell out and I’ll say I’m fucking sorry and we’ll put this behind us. Please.” She couldn’t believe how far Ruby was starting to take this. What was going to happen next? Would she take that stupid cosplay sword off the wall next? Maybe Ruby was right, and Arden knew she had fucked it up, but that didn’t mean Ruby could do this now. Ruby couldn’t leave her.

“I said leave. Or you’ll be staying as my enemy.” Where was this coming from? The ring burned in her pocket like a brand against her hand. Maybe she had been reading too much fantasy, watching too many superhero tv shows. Maybe she should calm down, listen to what Arden was saying, because maybe she had a point, and maybe she really was sorry.

“You don’t mean it.” Arden could see doubt flickering in Ruby’s eyes, could see the pain that was about to give. They were both close to breaking. Arden was about to play her final card, hoping that Ruby would see reason and let her stay. Hoping that she would forgive her. Her hand closed around the ring.

“Yes. I. Do.”

Then her sword sliced through the air and Arden had to jump back to stay out of harm’s way. Arden could hardly believe what the hell had just happened.

“Ruby, what the actual fuck?!?” Stepping behind the sofa, she raised a hand to shield herself as Ruby lifted her sword again. The ring sparkled in her hand and it was enough to catch Ruby’s attention, her swing halting abruptly.

“Oh my god. I am so fucking sorry. I… I don’t know what came over me. Arden, I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.” The ring in her own pocket felt like it was melting all of the anger she had felt moments before. It didn’t make what Arden had done okay, but it made everything better. It gave her hope that they had a fighting chance.

Holding it out like a peace offering, Ruby showed Arden the delicate ruby band in her own hand. The sword clattering to the floor and Arden nearly collapsing in relief. They ran to each other. All the pain of the past week falling away, slipping out of reach. It mattered that Arden had slept with her brother, but it also mattered that she was now holding out a promise. It mattered that Ruby had drawn a sword on her, but it also mattered that she was now crying too. Maybe next time they both PMS’d they should just get chocolate from Trader Joe’s together, not treat each other like mortal enemies. 

They loved each other, in ways that enemies never could. And they weren’t the perfect couple. But they wanted to try. And that mattered. That fucking mattered.

“I love you, Ruby.”

“I love you more, Arden.” 


	25. Day 25-Princess

Two years was all it took to fall head over heels for the wrong girl. Years during which she had teased her incessantly, during which her beauty had made her the fairest of them all, during which the boys had thrown themselves at her feet. It had all started in their sophomore year, when they had kissed for fun-it had been more than fun for Hannah. It had twisted itself around in her heart and head like a virus and now it was their senior year and Hannah would be going off to the east coast and Jessica was staying in Ohio. And it was all a mess-only inside Hannah’s head though, she’d never had the courage to tell Jessica anything. 

Jessica was the kind of girl who knew exactly how beautiful she was, but also didn’t seem to give a fuck. She didn’t seem to think that the world should put her on a higher pedestal than everyone else just because she made even sweatpants look good. She also didn’t care much for the attention it got her. Sure, she flirted with the boys, but that’s all it ever was, flirting. Not once in the past four years of high school had she made any sort of move on a guy-even though she could have had a boyfriend faster than it took Hannah to say “single”. It was almost worse for Hannah. The whole single Jessica dilemma. Because if Jessica had a boyfriend then she would be off limits for Hannah. But Jess didn’t. And Hannah kept pinning.

***

“Hannah, the Halloween dance is this Friday. You wanna go?” Jess shouts from the couch, bag of sea salt and vinegar chips sitting in her lap and the tv remote on her right knee. Hannah sits at the dinner table, slaving away at her history paper and working away at a PB&J. It’s Sunday night and they’re at Hannah’s house. The sky outside is purple, like the bruises on Hannah’s shins -she plays soccer for varsity, Jessica comes to every game- or maybe like the one lipstick color Jess can’t pull off. The sunset is gorgeous, but Jess is too focused on her chips and the show in front of her and Hannah is too focused on Jess.

Hannah thinks about the dance on Friday. She doesn’t have a costume, but knowing Jess, she probably has something for her in that huge closet of hers. It’s a Friday, so homework isn’t a good enough excuse to get out of it either. And anyways, Hannah isn’t sure she wants an excuse to stay home. Jess will look amazing-that’s a given. Maybe Hannah should just go for it, she’s got nothing to lose after all. No one knows her big fat secret and it’s going to stay that way for as long as Hannah can bear.

“Might as well. You’re gonna badger me about it until I say yes anyways. What are you gonna be?” Hannah tries to seem disinterested, but the truth is Jess’s Halloween costumes always go all out and she’s not kidding when she says that Jess looks drop dead gorgeous every single year. Her history paper is abandoned at this point; she’ll finish it after first period tomorrow or maybe after the game. 

The tv is still running in the background, but Jess isn’t watching anymore as she swings her feet over the back of the couch and faces Hannah. Her bag of chips is nearly empty and even though sea salt and vinegar are her favorite, she offers it to Hannah.

“Want one?” Hannah takes a chip and then waits for Jess to tell her what she’s going to be. Jess doesn’t say anything about the costume though. Instead she turns the tv off and stand up.

“It’s getting late, we should go to bed,” Jess smiles, taking Hannah’s hand and dragging her off to the bedroom they’ve shared since preschool-even though Jessica had the nicer, bigger house, they somehow always ended up at Hannah’s. Hannah still wonders why Jess didn’t tell her about her costume, normally she knows what Jess is gonna be three months in advance. Maybe it’s a surprise or maybe Jess didn’t hear her, too enthralled by her show. Hannah lays awake that night, long after Jessica is asleep and long after her parents come home.

***

Thursday night rolls around and Hannah still doesn’t know what Jess is being. She also doesn’t know what she’s being, but at least she got her history paper turned in on time. And they won the game on Monday night, 2-0. She scored one of the winning shots and Jess was watching.

“Hannah, wait up.” Jess shoulders her way through a group of freshmen, who instantly part as soon as they recognize her. She’s carrying an extra bag today-on top of her purse, backpack and duffel bag. Hannah wonders what’s in it, along with what perfume Jess is wearing today-something fruity, orange blossoms maybe. 

Jess reaches her and the two of them start the walk to Hannah’s car. The bag remains a mystery until they have pulled up into Hannah’s drive and walked through the front door.

“I have a costume for you, figured you wouldn’t have one. Anyways, I hope you like it,” says Jess, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. Hannah takes the first piece of clothing out tentatively. It’s a rich fabric, velvety and soft to the touch. There’s embroidery, with thin gold thread. This is a classic Jess costume, one where you don’t want to even think about the price tag. It takes Hannah a few moments and the helmet that Jess pulls out of the bag next to realize what she’s looking at.

“A knight? You want me to be a knight,” Hannah asks, wondering what was running through Jess’s mind when she picked this costume. It’s cool, that’s for sure, and Hannah’s never seen a nicer costume, but it seems a little out of place with what Jessica normally picks. 

“Yeah. Do you like it? I just thought, maybe, you wouldn’t want something nearly as girly as what I normally pick, and besides, it matches mine,” Jess seems nervous, something that Hannah rarely sees on her.

“It’s…I guess I do kind of love it. I mean, there’s a fricking sword. How cool is that?” Hannah runs a finger over the crimson tabard, it really is incredible. And Hannah knows she’ll look awesome in it. There’s just no way she could say no to Jess. Then it hits her, Jess said it matches hers. 

“What are you going to be?” Hannah had almost forgotten about Jess’s costume, but now she’s extra curious.

“You’ll just have to wait and see until tomorrow. Meet me in front of the gym at 4:30, k?” Jess grabs her backpack from the floor and walks out the door. Her house is just four blocks down and if she really wanted Hannah could drive her the short distance. 

Hannah feels bubbly. And nervous. But mostly just excited for the dance in ways she wasn’t on Sunday when Jess first mentioned it.

***

It’s 4: 27 and Hannah is standing outside of the gym in full knight gear. Jess is nowhere to be seen, but people are walking past her into the already loud and crowded hall behind her. Hannah’s sword feels heavy at her side, and her hand keeps running over the hilt as if she could chase away her butterflies with the motion. Using her phone as a mirror, Hannah sets her helmet -it’s really more of a thick circlet of silver than an actual helmet- on her French braids. It doesn’t sit quite right, but she can’t figure out how to get it even. 

Then someone’s hand catches hers. Lifting the crown out of her hands, Jess settles it easily in her hair. 

“You look great.” Hannah just stares. Her mouth hanging slightly open as she drinks in the sight before her.

Jess is a princess, with a floor length gown of crimson and gold and cream, and a crown too. A diadem, complete with little crystals and golden swoops, it sits casually in her blond locks-which have been pulled into a loose braid over her right shoulder. She looks like she walked out of the history paper Hannah had been writing just four days ago. 

“You look amazing, Jess.” She wishes there were words to describe how stunning Jessica is. Words to describe just how she feels, but it’s hard and Hannah has no idea where to start. Luckily, Jessica does.

Jessica, who put them in matching costumes, who made Hannah her knight in shining armor, who kissed her in the tenth grade, kisses her now. And it’s not for fun this time. 


	26. Day 26-Stars

She lives on her own now. The children have forgotten her name and call her simply _old woman at the end of the road_. She does not mind, perhaps she has forgotten her own name too. Many years have gone by since someone has spoken to her, really spoken to her. Not just the courtesy greetings from her granddaughter every time she comes by to make sure her old grandmother is still alright. These years alone have taken their toll and she can tell every time she passes by the dusty mirror in the hall-the one that was once her duty to keep clean. In fact, the whole house is covered in a fine layer of dust. But she can’t find it in her to get out the leaky bucket and the worn rag and get on her hands and knees and wipe it away, and neither can her granddaughter. So, she lives on her own for the most part. Her only real company coming out only at night.

The stars, bright beacons from faraway places, that promise of things to come and tell the story of what has. They create maps that only she can read and whisper secrets in the night that no one else knows. They call her name. _Naleli._ It means star in her mother’s language. But by the time morning comes, she has forgotten the adventures of the night and returns to the rocking chair by the fireplace. The same way she has forgotten of the adventures of her youth.

***

_“Naleli. Come play with us. Come on, don’t be a wuss. It’ll be fun,” the girl says, urging Naleli to join her. The other children are going down to the river, to play in the cool water while the sun bakes the rest of the land hard and dry. Naleli does not want to. She finds the water scary, a place of danger where her little brother was torn away from her mother as a babe by a crocodile. She knows that the children would not be allowed to play in this river if there was danger, but still, she does not like it._

_Instead she lays inside the house, on the dusty and cracked floor, pouring over a book that echoes the floor in its cracked nature. It is a history book, about the gods and goddesses. But also, about the heavens, the stars that glow in the night sky when the sun slips away beneath the rusty horizon. She spends hours with this book, treats it like her bible. Her mother has tried to get her newer ones, to read something more current, like the newspaper or children’s storybooks more suited to her age. Naleli leaves them on the shelf most days though. The ancient book fills her with a sense of belonging, a sense of truth. _

_In the afternoon heat she can practically see the stars shimmering like little mirages on the roof of the hut. If she closed her eyes, the wobbly shapes would thicken and become a painting of night above her. She loves those stars. They have guided her, helped her, given hope when her brother had left an empty space in the bed. Some day she believes she will join those stars and shine up there watching over her family. But for now, she sees them from below._

***

When morning comes, she finds that she can hardly lift herself out of the rocking chair. Her bones ache and there is a dull throbbing in her head. Her light is leaving her, she thinks to herself. Soon she will join the stars. One last time she recalls that fateful summer night.

***

_The crickets are humming in the distance and the other children are running through the tall grass, shouting to one another. The grown folk laugh and dance and eat good food by the light of the moon. It is a good year for the village. The harvest was bountiful and there had finally been a good rain. All of the newborn calves have survived, and so has the youngest member of the village. Naleli is for once not sitting inside, and she isn’t watching the stars either. Instead, she watches the other children play, hesitant to join them. It looks like fun, this game of tag, but she doesn’t know how to be like the other children, how to run with wild abandon. All she knows is how to map the stars and how to recount hundreds of stories about them and their names. _

_Shrieks of laughter fill the sweet night air. Naleli quarrels with herself, should she go play? Should she join the grown-ups, curl herself up beneath her mother’s skirt? In the end, she looks up at the stars, asking them. Their twinkling faces stare down at her, edging her on, whispering to her that she should run with the others. So, she does._

_Slipping off her shoes, she lets out a whoop of glee. It is freeing after the long hours spent inside the dusty hut, and now the earth is soft, ripe with rain, and her toes sink into the dirt. She feels her spirits lift and above her it seems as though the stars are shining brighter. The air tastes of adventure, and she’s never felt this way before._

_This alive, this real. It’s exhilarating. She runs free from the other children, not bothering now to join their game, this is her freedom and she will relish in it as she always has, alone. As the stars shine above, she does to. Her cloud of hair lights up from within and her own light pours out of her. She feels the rest of the world fall away, the field, the children, the adults murmuring with one another at a fire. Something begins to form in front of her, a shape, a star. Naleli lets out a gasp as she recognizes her grandmother, stepping through the burning light and towards her. _

_“Granmama, Granmama, where have you been?” her voice becomes muffled as she runs into the woman’s arms. The two stand in a blazing embrace, warmth and the familiar smell of her Granmama’s cooking envelope her. Naleli can hardly believe her eyes, believe the woman standing before her. But her Granmama does not answer her question, cannot perhaps, and so they stay in this place of dazzling light and hold each other. It is a magical moment that buries itself deep in Naleli’s memory-right where her heart is. _

***

Now she is remembering, when she saw her Granmama come out of the sky and held her. She remembers all that she had forgotten, remembers all the years, all the hours spent inside the hut, all the time she had and now it is fleeting again. She is losing everything again, all except the light that ignites in her hair-the hair that was once thick and dark, that is now soft and wispy and greying. All at once, Naleli feels her Granmama again. She is going to join her in that place of darkness, that place of watching. This time she will not return to the dusty earth, this time she is going home. To the sky. To the stars. 


	27. Day 27-Mage

“Run faster! They’re nearly onto us. Come on!” Tara shouts as she leaps over roots and rocks. They have been running for what feels like eternity; Madi’s chest is burning like a wildfire. There’s no way she can keep this up much longer, but Tara shouts again, this time with her salvation.

“Just until the waterfall, we can lose our scents there, maybe hide at the bottom or ride with the river’s current. We can do this Madi, we can make it,” Tara’s voice comes from a ridge above Madi’s head. She pushes through the pain in her thighs and scrambles up the incline. Tara stands over a steep drop, an icy plunge downwards, and the wide river tumbling south below. It would be a beautiful sight if Madi wasn’t so out of breath and batshit terrified of both the height and the hunters behind them. Then Tara pushes her over the edge, and she screams.

Tara jumps off after her, little more than a blur above her. There is a tremendous splash as the two of them plummet into the water, freezing and whirling like a tornado. Madi latches onto a rock jutting out in the middle of the raging river and reaches out her hand for Tara, who grabs it quickly and pulls herself up onto the rock as well. The two of them gasp and splutter up water for a good few moments and then Tara is spurred into action again, knowing that their hunters are not far behind.

“Come on, Madi, we have to get to the other side of the river. Or at least back to the head.” Madi hears her voice through what feels like a gallon of water in her ear. Giving her head a vigorous shake, her hearing becomes clearer almost instantaneously. It’s a small comfort, that Tara doesn’t let her enjoy for very long as she pulls them both from the rock and back into the wild waters.

“Tara!” Madi’s protest is lost in the current and she struggles once again to keep her head above water. This is really not her day. Battling her way through the choppy waves -there really shouldn’t be waves like this in a river- Madi prays to all the gods she’s ever heard of to _please, please be dry again at some point before she dies_. Maybe, if she makes it through this, she’ll become a hermit in the Sahara desert just to be away from all this retched water. And maybe she can convince Tara to join her.

Suddenly it becomes a lot easier to move through the river and Madi lets out a gasp of shock as she feels the ground beneath her soggy shoes-she’s honestly surprised that they’re still on her feet. Tara seems to feel it too and turns to look back at Madi. What she sees makes her jaw drop.

Out of the center of the violent current, comes a figure. Tall, with broad shoulders and a wide stance, she is clad in bright blue armor and wields a staff like a tree. The two girls have never seen anything like her, with thick braids running down her back and piercing blue-green eyes. She is a formidable giantess, with a fiendish grin that burns straight through the back of Madi’s head. Then she raises her staff and Madi quakes with fear.

She slams it down into the river, sending out deadly ripples and lifting the water so that it swirls around her like a whirlpool. Madi is glad she’s on the muddy bank of the river and not clinging to the rock that appears to be splintering with the force of the waves. Where Madi is a frightened mess, Tara looks on with a mixture of awe and delight, and the corner of her mouth turns up into the face she always makes when she knows something Madi doesn’t. Scrambling to her feet, Madi makes her way through the squelching mud, trying to get to where Tara is before the water giant notices them. Or maybe she already has noticed them, in which case Madi ought to move faster.

As she moves closer to Tara, the hunters crest the ridge. The whirlpool of water, sparkling in the hot sun, tightens into rings around the great warrior. She turns her attention on the men with their guns already cocked and raised. They aim, fear visible in some of their hands as they tremble the way Madi is trembling too. Their leader doesn’t even flinch though as he empties his rounds into the woman before them.

Madi flinches though, letting out a scream as Tara throws herself over her in an attempt to shield them from any of the deadly bullet rain. For a moment everything is loud and chaotic and Madi can barely breath and then Tara’s arms tighten around her even more as the rat-ta-tat of the gunfire stops. Something has changed, shifted. As if the tides are turning quite literally, as Madi sees over Tara’s shoulder the giantess swirling up the water with her staff. 

Tara has her face towards the muddy riverbank and can only wonder what Madi sees behind her that makes her cling to Tara’s protective arms even more. But she doesn’t need to see to guess what happens next.

With a wink tossed towards Madi, the great water mage swirls her staff one last time and washes the hunters away with a wave big enough to cause the entire riverbed to flood. Madi and Tara are swept up in a cocoon of concentrated waves and the giantess gently sets them down a fair way down river on a sandy part of the bank. Then she vanishes beneath the surface of the river, until all that remains of her is smattering of bubbles resting on the calmed waves. 

Madi looks at Tara and breathes out a sigh of relief that they are finally on dry ground. “Thank goodness we made it out of there!” Madi says as she pushes herself of the sand and offers Tara a hand. Tara doesn’t look quite as pleased. 

“Madi, what did you wish for?”

“What do you mean? I didn’t wish for anything…” Tara is glaring at Madi with a stare that could put the water giant’s to shame. 

“Then would you please explain to me why we’re in the middle of the Saharan fucking desert?!!?”

“Oh fuck.” 


	28. Day 28-Assassin

The little princess lay in her crib sleeping as peacefully as any babe could on Festival Night. She was wrapped in a blanket woven of the softest sheep’s wool and a fire was kept carefully lit in the eastern corner of her chamber. A wet-nurse sat dozing off in the chair beside her, a book had slipped from her hands onto the floor and her cup of tea sat abandoned on the small table to her right. The night outside was filled with shouting and whooping as the people of Haldor celebrated in the streets, their wild dancing going on until sunrise.

Unbeknownst to the drunk and happy people below something dangerous was creeping through their city, something that would change their kingdom forever.

***

“Do you know how risky this job is? I’m the only one crazy enough to do it, but I’m not going to come at a cheap price. You better be able to cough up the gold, all of it. And I want to be payed half now,” Aslaine said across the cracked wooden bar table. She was a nursing a tankard of ale and eyeing the chicken leg on her prospective employer’s chipped plate with her good eye, the other was lazily taking in the rest of the tavern through a somewhat blurry lens. 

“I have money, or else I wouldn’t have asked you. I’ve heard of your steep prices and I am prepared to pay in return for your services. If you think you can get it done, then here, ten thousand Krögr. You will get the rest when you have brought me her head,” the cloaked figure opposite her replied, taking a hearty swig from their own tankard. Then they shoved their plate towards Aslaine. “You’ve been eyeing it all night, just take it already.” Aslaine didn’t need to be told twice and quickly snatched up the chicken leg before the cloaked figure could change their mind. 

“I expect to see you back here in three days’ time, with the head,” the figure said and then rose from the creaking chair, sweeping their cloak tighter around them as they made their way through the rowdy crowd to the exit. Aslaine remained in her seat, tearing into the crispy chicken with delight.

***

Her mission was simple and Aslaine knew it wouldn’t take her three days. She also knew that she wasn’t the only one crazy enough to do it and that there was truly very little risk in the task she had been asked to do. But as long as her employer was willing to pay, Aslaine wouldn’t be correcting them. It concerned Aslaine very little that she did not know the identity of her employer for similar reasons, even if the money she was receiving was stolen or blood money it did not matter, she had done worse herself.

Spurring her horse into motion, she began the journey down the valley and towards the capital of Haldor. As she rode, she whistled and kept up a merry tune all the way to the great golden gates that reached up to the sky. 

There were officers checking people’s wares and many were being turned away. Security always tightened around Festival and Aslaine had made arrangements long before this job, at this point it was more or less a tradition for her to drink herself into a stupor on spiced wine and watch the city celebrate on the streets below her lofty perch on the castle’s west wall.

Guiding her horse up to the leftmost line she flashed the guard a smile and tossed him the remaining coin she owed him as he opened the side gate for her. And just like that she was inside the city and only a few blocks separated her from her target and the rest of her payment.

***

The hall was dark and there was water dripping off the old stone walls. This part of the castle was clearly not used much anymore and the voices echoing through the corridor were strange in the nearly impenetrable silence. A rat scurried along the left side, staying well within the shadows that were cast by the single torch held in the hands of a woman.

“Do you have it?” her voice was low and hushed, despite the fact that she could have shouted and only the rat and her companion would have heard. They were so far below the rest of the castle that any sound that did make it through the endless halls would be so warbled and distorted that it would have been mistaken for wind.

The figure to her right answered in a similarly muted tone, keeping his hood drawn tight around him in attempts to keep the chill out of his bones.

“I have it, but are you sure this will work? Are you sure there’s no way it’ll be traced back to us? I can’t be caught. Especially not now.”

The woman rolled her eyes, scrunched her nose and then gave him a hard glare before hissing back.

“Do you really think I would do this if there was any chance my head would end up on the chopping block?! This is important to me, but not important enough that I’d give my life for it. Now stop being a wuss and give me the blasted vial!” She held open her hand and after a few moments of hesitation the man handed her a small glass tube filled with a clear liquid.

“Good. Now go before anyone sees you here,” the woman waved him off quickly and then, upon seeing him round the corner, hurried off back up the stairs that would guide to the warmer, better lit parts of the castle and the task that awaited her.

***

Aslaine had forgotten how much the city smelled like piss. And after more than hour of subjecting herself to the rotten stench she was more than ready for a change of scenery. Making her way up to the castle was not a difficult task, but in order to make the mission a little less boring, Aslaine pretended that the guard had been tipped off about her and that if they saw her she’d be locked up in a castle cell overnight and hung from the south tower in the morning. It also gave her an excuse for climbing nimbly up onto the nearest roof and pulling herself out of the stench of the city.

Evening had started to fall, and the festivities were beginning as Aslaine finally dropped back down onto the cobblestone street and crept her way into the castle. She took the back way through the old dried up remnants of the moat which led to the lower parts of the castle that had only ever been used for moat maintenance and the rare siege. No one used it anymore and Aslaine had snuck into the castle on numerous occasions through the moist corridors, but tonight was different. Tonight, she wasn’t just looking for a bit of fun with one of the guards, whom she would ask a favor of the next day or sometimes even year, and she wasn’t just messing around with the palace cooks, from whom she’d steal supplies or entire three course meals just because she could. Tonight, she was going to kill someone.

And that was nothing new to her, but she’d never killed someone in the castle before and that made tonight different. Even though there was hardly a risk. Even though she was good at doing this. Something just felt different, like she was doing something wrong to an old friend, even though it was silly to think of the old rotting castle as a friend. Aslaine laughed to herself in the chilly hall as she made her way closer and closer to someone else’s doom. And then her foot caught on something, scuffed against it in the dark.

Crouching down, she pulled out a match and struck it, holding up the flickering light against the object she had nearly tripped over: a torch recently lit and burned out, and a sign that someone had been down here within the last hour. Aslaine nearly dropped the match in shock. Who would come down here? And worse, were they coming back? Spurred by the torch, Aslaine scampered her way up the stairs as quickly as possible and, pulling her cowl further over her head, stayed securely hidden in the shadows.

***

The castle was empty. All of its inhabitants were out on the streets having a good time, celebrating the good year and the good harvest that had come with it. Everything was merry. And yet, someone was about to die. Events were about to be set into motion that would alter the course of the kingdom forever. And no one but the rat down in the old part of the castle knew it. 

***

She emptied the contents of the vial into the milk, stirring it in quickly and then tossing the vial and with it any evidence out of the tower window. Everything was falling into place nicely and like she had told Edward, there was no chance of either of them going to the chopping block or the gallows once the king and queen discovered what they had done. The poison was undetectable, and the vial was smashed somewhere at the bottom of the old moat. Tomorrow the kingdom would fall apart and then she and Edward and the rest would be able to march the army that her father had raised into the kingdom with little resistance. Tomorrow everything would change.

***

Something made Aslaine take the next flight of stairs three at a time. Maybe it was the chills that were running down her spine, or the fact that no one was in the castle, or perhaps it was the rat, scurrying along beside her. As she reached the princess’s door, she paused, knife in hand and only slightly out of breath. Then her moment of hesitation passed, and she eased the door open. 

Moonlight was streaming in through the tower window and the babe was in her crib, watching the mobile of stars and moons above her with big round eyes. There was no one else in the room, but Aslaine knew the king and queen would never leave their precious daughter unattended. The nurse must be nearby. Slipping into the shadows behind the door, Aslaine waited, fingers tight around the hilt of the knife and eyes peeled and waiting for any movement.

***

The rest of the castle was eerie, with no sounds or light or bustling movement. Making her way up the last set of stairs, the maid strode down the hall and turned the knob on the door. It creaked as it gave way to a moonlit room and the royal baby in her crib. Her eyes landed on the curious bright blue ones wrapped in an ivory blanket and for a moment she doubted herself, doubted her plan that had seemed so obvious mere hours ago. And that doubt was enough.

***

The knife barely moved as it slashed through the pale throat, leaving blood lightly sprayed across the castle wall and pulling a soft gasp from the open mouth of the wet-nurse. The milk bottle fell from her hand, shattering on the ground harmlessly. Her body, relieved of its head, followed soon after with a small thud.

Aslaine wiped her blade off on the maid’s apron and made to leave, her job done. She paused at the threshold though and turned back to look at the child one last time. Those eyes met hers and something in them seemed familiar. She knew she was supposed to walk away, that her only job now was to walk out of the castle and leave the city and collect her payment. None of that included wrapping the baby tighter in her blanket and lifting her into her arms. It didn’t include leaving the head beside the maid and never meeting with the mysterious stranger to collect the second half of her payment. But it was what Aslaine did anyway. 

And as she rode away from the celebrating city, with the sleeping babe in her arms and a rat stowed away in her saddlebags, she knew she had made the right choice, even if she didn’t know the reason yet.


	29. Day 29-Companion

She was a princess, the heir to the throne of some far off kingdom that she did not remember. But it had not been safe there and so Aslaine had brought her here, deep into the heart of the forest that Maika had been stuck in her entire life. Aslaine may have saved her from being poisoned by her nurse, but she wasn’t doing a particularly good job of saving Maika from boredom now.

After all, one could only count the trees in the woods once before it lost its novelty value. And she had learned the names of all the plants that grew there before she had turned eight. Befriending all of the birds only took her another five years, getting her through to thirteen, then she had named all of the trees and befriended the squirrels that lived in them, but that had only lasted until fifteen. All the while Aslaine had taught her how to fight and cheat and lie and steal. And Maika was good at it by sixteen, excellent by seventeen and bored of that too by eighteen. Which was where they were now at. Eighteen years in this goddamn forest. Maika wondered how Aslaine had stayed sane, especially for the first three when Maika hadn’t been able to say more than when she was hungry and when she was tired. She hadn’t even been able to pronounce Aslaine’s name until three and a half.

But now she was eighteen and she longed to see the world beyond the edge of the forest, to visit the village whose lights she could see on cloudless nights and to ride until she disappeared over the horizon. To return to the far off kingdom of Haldor and to meet her people, whom she had only ever heard of, and to be reunited with the parents that Aslaine said loved her very much. But a part of her worried whether she would be enough, whether her parents would recognize her, accept her with open arms, and what would happen to Aslaine? Her loyal protector, guardian, friend and teacher. Yes, she had been the one to steal Maika from her kingdom, but Aslaine had also saved her life and given her valuable skills-even if it meant that she had been trapped in this forest for nearly her entire life.

***

The king was withering away on his throne, with his face thin and haggard and his crown slipping down his forehead. His kingdom was not doing much better; crops were failing, and his people were starving. Worst of all, they were on the brink of war with a neighboring kingdom and in no position to defend themselves. And even if an army were raised, the soldiers would be too weak to properly lift a sword, let alone march into combat. He supposed he had one small comfort; he was not sick yet. Not hacking up his lungs and bleeding from the ears as he lay in a bed, dripping in sweat and not knowing who and where he was. That was a blessing, but watching his wife, the queen, suffer was like a curse. He did not expect to grace this earth much longer, but he hoped that he would see his precious daughter one last time. His sweet Maika.

***

_Clank. Clink. Thud._

“Focus, Maika! I feel like you’re not even trying at this point,” Aslaine said from her comfortable position on Maika’s chest. Her knife was casually at the girl’s throat, but Maika made no attempts to bat it away. Her thoughts were elsewhere as had been made painfully clear to Aslaine after the assassin had beaten Maika three times in a row already and had hardly worked up a sweat.

“Sorry, I’m tired, can we do this later?” Maika’s response was somewhere in between annoyed and bored, a mood that Aslaine had become all to familiar with over her teen years. Maika wanted freedom, adventure, she wanted to see the world beyond the forest. And Aslaine wanted to let her see it, but she was also afraid, afraid that Maika wasn’t ready yet, that there would be no throne for her to return to, that Aslaine would lose her little girl to some monarchs that hadn’t seen her in eighteen years. But Maika was ready, that was something Aslaine was seeing more and more these days and keeping her trapped here in the forest wasn’t getting the two of them anywhere. 

“Get your things, only what you can carry on your horse and only what you really need. It’s time you saw the rest of the world,” Aslaine offered Maika a hand, pulling her up from the dusty forest floor and handing her back the gilded knife she had lost in their struggle. Maika didn’t say anything for a good long moment, and she also didn’t immediately rush off to pack her saddlebags. She just stood there, her mouth slightly open and her knife hand hanging loosely at her side. She clearly hadn’t been expecting this turn of events and was staring at Aslaine like she had grown a third eye on her forehead. 

“Are you…you’re joking right? You can’t really mean it…? Am I really going to see…my parents, I want to see them…if I can?” The questions sort of trickled out like the stream that ran near their camp and Aslaine waited patiently for them to stop before opening her mouth again to answer them.

“I’m not joking. It’s time, you’ve worked hard enough and there isn’t any point keeping you hidden any longer. And if it’s your parents you want to see, I’m sure there’s someway we can arrange it. But first, get Sasha prepared, and make sure you’ve got all your weapons sharp and close at hand. Who knows what we’ll find out there…” Aslaine had barely finished this time before Maika was running off to her small cave, her step full of an invigorated spring now that she finally had something to prepare for.

***

The queen lay dying, and while the king had confined himself to his cold throne, she desperately awaited news of her daughter from the spies she had sent out as soon as she had coughed up the first round of blood. The first set had returned from the east and west with nothing, but perhaps the group she had sent to the north would be successful, or the mysterious woman she had sent south would bring her back a lock of hair and the promise that her daughter was coming. But there was no sign of the riders and her condition worsened with every passing hour now. It was likely she would never see her daughter again; her only memories those of a small green-eyed babe swaddled in a soft grey blanket accompanying her to her grave. Out of the furthest corner of her tower window, she saw a cloud of dust growing steadily closer. But her consciousness evaded her and soon the sickness was taking its hold again, pulling her under until she could barely form a thought.

***

They had been riding hard for two days. Sasha was coated in dust and mud and her once finely braided mane was in terrible knots and tangles. Maika would have quite the struggle ahead of her when they finally reached the palace, if the guards even let her past the front gate. Aslaine seemed to think they would, not a sliver of doubt in her mind that the princess would be welcomed back with open arms, but Maika worried, fearing that the people would not want a princess that had seemingly abandoned them. Her train of thought was broken off as the city gate rose above them, rising into the sky like giants. Sasha slowed to a trot and Aslaine pulled her cowl further over her head. Maika simply stared with her mouth falling softly into an O-shape, never in her life had she imagined something so enormous or ornate. The handles on the gates alone were more ornate than any of Aslaine’s knives and the gold shone like a thousand tiny suns. 

“Halt. State your name and business here.” Two guards holding spears and shields with large cats emblazoned on them approached Maika and Aslaine. Maika turned to Aslaine, unsure for a moment and then, at the older woman’s nod, addressed the men.

“I am the crown princess Maika of Haldor. I have come to see my parents and claim my birthright. Let me pass.” Her voice shook and her grip on the hilt of her knife tightened; her heart rose into her throat as the taller guard opened his mouth to speak.

“The crown princess vanished seventeen years ago, and the king and queen lie in their castle dying. You cannot pass.” His voice was firm, and his fist was curling menacingly around the shaft of the spear. 

“Aslaine, what do I do?” Maika’s voice broke as she whispered to her companion, “how do I prove to them that I am the princess?”

Aslaine slid from her horse, striding past Maika and stopped just short of the guards crossed spears. Drawing her hood back she revealed a long scar, running from just above her eye to the base of her neck. And where the scar ended, there was a brand, a single scarred over _A_. The mark of an assassin.

“You know who I am.” Aslaine’s voice was commanding, cold, it left no room for argument and the guards did not dare to open their mouths, simply nodding. The fear in their eyes gave away enough: Aslaine was still remembered after all this time. Maika watched with fascination, wonder at this new side of her master and friend. Or perhaps, it was not a new side, but an old one that had been buried deep for the past seventeen years.

“I am Aslaine and I have come to return the princess. Now let us pass.”

***

There was a great commotion outside the empty throne room, but the king hardly stirred. He had little hope of regaining his strength and hoped that death’s arms would soon embrace him, and perhaps he would see his daughter then. But as the doors swung open, it appeared that today would not be his final one. 

Maika stood before the throne and a man that could only be her father filled with fear. Would she be enough?

The man did not rise, nor give any other indication that he had seen her. But as she stepped closer, she saw that his eyes had become milky with age or perhaps sickness. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and his frail hands seemed as though they would simply crumble to dust. How could this be a king? Aslaine had said that her parents were strong and proud rulers, but the queen was nowhere to be found and this man could have just as easily passed as a beggar.

“Father?” her voice sounded like that of a child’s and the stumble in her step did not make her seem anymore prepared or strong either. She had been waiting for this moment, this return home for so long, but this was not what she had expected.

The king raised his head, a movement that took much effort on his part. He saw for only a moment a girl standing before him. A familiar green-eyed girl, his little Maika.

“Daughter, you’ve come home.” 

In the tower above the queen felt something like a great sigh of relief. Her daughter was there, and she could finally be at rest. Her final breath seemed to fill the chamber and then she was gone.

***

The small rat scurried through the familiar corridors, until it reached the queen’s chambers. She lay glassy eyed in her bed, the sheets already growing cold, and her crown lying on the table beside her, empty of its crown jewel. The rodent leapt onto the chair, then to the table until it came to a rest beside the golden circlet, falling into dust as the first sun rays touched the sky, leaving in its place a bright green gem. The princess was home.


	30. Day 30-Queen

Rain filled the streets, sending the people scurrying like rats from the water. The sky seemed like it would simply dump endless torrents on the city and drown the inhabitants where they stood. Even beneath the shelter of thatched, and in some more fortunate cases stone, roofs the rain found ways in. Through cracks and crevices and through windows that had been thrown wide open by the harsh winds and could not be pulled shut again, or worse, filling up the houses from the floor up, turning dirt floors into swamps and beds into life-rafts. Not a single soul in the rain-slicked city was dry, not even the queen, high on her hill, locked in a tower of stone.

The queen had been reading, a worn book propped open in her lap and a steaming pot of tea accompanying her on the heavy oak table beside her, when the first drops of rain had found their way through the castle walls. At first, she had thought she had slipped into a dream, that this droplet of water was simply echoing the passage she had just read, depicting a great flood sweeping through an ancient kingdom. But then the second drop landed on the yellowing page like a starburst, and then a third had landed on her neck, trickling down her back and sending chills up her spine. The fourth dripped its way down her cheek, resembling a single tear as she rose from her seat by the fire. Setting the book down, she strode to the window and peered out at her city. The water was rising and what had once been a small stream on the sides of the cobblestone streets had become a river, sweeping carts and livestock with it, along with the dust that had accumulated over the long summer months. And if her city had not sat atop a great hill, the queen would have worried that these were the makings of a great flood. But her city was familiar with these rains, welcoming them with the start of the winter season and sending them away with a great festival at the end of spring. What worried her was the wind, rattling at the window and bringing with it great thunderheads, the likes of which this kingdom had not seen in several hundreds of years.

If the lightning that was still off in the distance reached the homes of her people, many would die, that the young queen was sure of. And as it grew closer, she saw that it was a shocking blue, not white as it should have been. This lightning was not of the Earth and the queen knew not how to stop it. Something was coming for her, perhaps an enemy or perhaps the gods, enraged and ready to dole out punishment for a crime she knew nothing of. Either way, her duty was to her people and if the lightning came any further, they would perish.

***

A small figure practically waded through the streets, searching desperately for her brother and trying not to be swept away by the winds. She was only six winters old and poorly clothed with a torn sheet as a makeshift cloak and no shoes on her feet. The tunic was rough spun and had been made with someone much larger in mind. None of this was of particular interest to the young mage making her way through the streets. It was the child’s pure white hair, running past her little waist, that made the girl pause before pulling her staff out from under her own dark and heavily embroidered cloak.

***

Gathering her ivory cloak around her, the queen strode to the small oak door at the base of the castle wall. Perhaps the source of the storm would make itself clear when she stepped out of her stone tower and if not, she would navigate her way through the winding cobblestone streets to the young mage’s hut, in hopes that she would know more about this mysterious storm.

She had welcomed the mage into her city with open arms, something that had shocked the young woman at first. Mages were not welcome in many kingdoms this far East and many kings and queens persecuted and hunted them down. But the young queen was not like the other rulers, she saw the beauty in magic, the possibility in the strange tattoos and twisted staffs, and perhaps even a friend in the blonde that had come stumbling through the city gates. Clearly the neighboring kingdoms had not been kind to the woman, but the queen had simply promised her sanctuary and as many hot meals as she required.

***

The child was pounding on a door with her small fists, shivering as the wind tore into her and threatened to pull her away. The mage watched as the door was opened by a lanky, sandy-haired boy and then, after a quick glance out into the rainy night, shut it again, the girl safe inside. One soggy bootstep after another, the mage made her way to the door and placed her hand against the splintering wood. Her power flowed through her as she sensed the life forms on the other side, two living bodies and one that had grown cold. And something else too, something that crackled and surged with energy, something that did not like her own power and pushed it away viciously. The mage stumbled backwards as if someone had shoved her and tumbled onto the wet street. 

“Bronwyn!” A voice from her left shouted as she pushed herself back onto two feet, throwing her sopping wet cloak over her shoulder. Looking towards the voice, Bronwyn saw a figure that could only be the queen. Her white cloak shone like a beacon against the night and the long dirty blonde hair that tumbled over her right shoulder tangled in the wind, her boots were wet, but unlike Bronwyn’s did not seem to have soaked through, their paraffin coating keeping her royal feet dry. The reason for her visit was clear, what other reason was there for the young queen to leave her tower of books and fantasies? 

“Your majesty, go back to the castle. I’ll take care of this storm and we’ll both be requiring a hot meal in no time.” As Bronwyn said those words she wondered if they were really true, would she survive whatever lay behind that door? Would her strength and staff alone be enough to quiet the storm? But she would never tell the queen that.

“Are you sure you can handle this one? That lightning looks dangerous and powerful. Bronwyn, if there’s anything I can do to help…”

The queen was standing next to her now, looking at the worn door with a grim expression on her face. 

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do…this is magic. I’m sure of it. And last time I checked, the only way to fight magic was magic.” Bronwyn readied her grip on her staff and prepared herself for a renewed attempt at the door. The queen didn’t move from her place at Bronwyn’s side.

“And how do you know you’re the only one of us with magic?” That made Bronwyn stop short, her hand stopped mid air between the door and her chest. 

“You can’t, I would have sensed it…you don’t, right?”

“Relax, Bronwyn, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help.” The queen easily unsheathed a small blade and nodded for Bronwyn to proceed.

Steeling herself, Bronwyn raised her staff and struck the door clean of its hinges. 

The boy from before threw himself in front of the little girl, while a frail woman huddled in the corner. The girl trembled behind who was presumably her brother and the woman-her mother?-shrieked. The queen stood beside Bronwyn, knife out and hood blown back by the wind.

“Please, she didn’t mean to hurt anyone…she’s young, she doesn’t have control yet…it’s not her fault…” the boy’s stutters are nearly lost on the wind, but the desperation in his voice is as clear as the sun was this morning. He truly seems to believe that the child behind him is not to blame for the deadly lightning, but Bronwyn knows better. These sorts of children cannot learn control, the nature of their power is too destructive, and they are too young to know reason. There is no choice, the child must die, or the city will fall.

“Bronwyn, she’s just a little girl…maybe there’s another way we can stop the storm?”

“Is that an order, your Majesty?” Bronwyn pauses, staff raised and conjuring all the power she possibly can. The girl looks terrified underneath her brother’s arm. But Bronwyn doesn’t have a choice. And she knew she would have to do things like this when she accepted the tattoos. 

The queen seems speechless for a moment. Then she crouches and offers a hand to the girl. The girl steps forward, trembling, and takes the smooth hand. Bronwyn watches, staff ready. The mother whimpers. 

“Can you stop it?” The queen’s question is simple, but the child hesitates. Bronwyn knows the answer.

“No.” The queen looks back at Bronwyn, a single tear dripping down her cheek, and then the knife moves so fast Bronwyn nearly misses it.

“It’s alright, we just want to help.” Those are the words the queen whispers as she catches the little girl’s limp form. “We just want to help.”

The brother shouts, throwing himself at the queen, but Bronwyn catches him with a blast from her staff, he falls to the ground and doesn’t get up. The mother stays in her corner, weeping.

“I am sorry, but many others would have died. I’ll have the grave digger come in the morning,” the queen’s words are curt, closed off as she gently closes the little girl’s eyes and drapes her white hair over the slash mark across her chest. The woman in the corner doesn’t move.

Bronwyn helps her queen up and the two of them walk out into the night, leaving the bodies behind.

“Why didn’t you let me do it?” Bronwyn’s voice is soft.

“They are my people, and they are my responsibilities.” 


	31. Day 31-Fallen

Cassia didn’t think that she’d be attending funerals like a pro as a college sophomore, then again, she also didn’t think that she’d be married and widowed by that time either. 

It had been a freak accident, at least, that’s what the police had told her. A gust of wind must have somehow knocked the tree over, causing Brooke’s crash and impaling her on a pipe that had been twisted in the tree’s branches. The doctors had said that it would have been a fairly painless death, the pipe had gone straight through her head. And deep down Cassia knew that it was probably better this way, that Brooke would have suffered for months on end battling the cancer for Cassia’s sake. It didn’t change anything. Cassia still missed her ray of sunshine, her bright spot in a world that seemed to be filled with dark monsters at every turn. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do now. 

Whether she would finish college-she was majoring in English and it wasn’t like she could make an actual career out of that-or move back home to her aunt and uncle’s, mourn for a few months and finally accept the job offer from her cousin. Maybe the monotony of a 9-5 desk job would help her deal with the grief, maybe it would scare away the monsters due to the sheer boringness of it, maybe she’d fall in love with someone else and live her life. Or maybe she would finally finish her book, the one that Brooke had loved reading so much, and that she’d promised she’d complete before Brooke died. 

Because they talked about it, Brooke’s inevitable death, and they talked about it openly, had made plans and promises, and heck, they’d even gotten married just last summer. But Cassia had never finished the novel, had never known how to finish it, even though she knew how it ended. She’d known how it ended since the very first sentence that she’d written, right after Brooke’s diagnosis with stage 3 leukemia. And she’d never intended on letting Brooke read the last chapter, because the hero dies at the end. And some small part of her had hoped that if she never wrote the ending, Brooke wouldn’t die. But now their time had been cut short, brought to an end just as their lives were beginning.

“Cassia? Your mom and brother are here…I thought I’d invite them up for you-” Trisha breaks her train of thoughts and the sound of small feet trampling up the stairs keep her from finding it again. Instead Cassia’s mind catches on a word, mom. 

“Step-mom, Trish,” her voice is laced with bitter undertones, ones that she hopes Trisha will pick up, but of course, she doesn’t. Why would she? Trisha’s only known Cassia for a semester and she doesn’t know that Cassia hates the woman on the stairs, Trisha doesn’t know anything about her, not like Brooke. Something inside Cassia threatens another bout of tears, but she’s promised herself not to cry in front of her mother’s replacement. Because Brooke isn’t the only one who left Cassia. Her mother went in the ground five years prior and in less than a year Cassia had a new ‘mom’ and a little brother on the way.

“Casserole!” Cassia flashes a smile as a small shape slams into her, wrapping his little hands around her knees since that’s all he can reach. She grabs him under the armpits and hauls the boy into her arms. It’s not her brother’s fault he had the wrong mother and Cassia’s forgotten how much she missed him.

Her reunion is cut short though as the step-mother makes her way elegantly through the door. She’s holding a paper bag in one hand and her brother’s favorite stuffed animal in the other, but Cassia sees past her sweet motherly act. This woman doesn’t want to be here, not for Cassia at least.

“Cassia. I brought dinner,” the woman holds up the bag, handing the stuffy to Cassia’s little brother as he reaches for it. “How are you holding up? I know this can’t be easy.”

If her little brother and Trisha weren’t here…well, Cassia doesn’t know what she’d do, but she wouldn’t just accept this woman’s presence. Or welcome her into the apartment and show her were to set the dumplings and soup that she’s brought from Cassia’s favorite restaurant, the one where she’d proposed to Brooke and where her mom and dad had met. But the others are here and deep down Cassia thinks she’s too tired to fight right now. She misses Brooke.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Trisha decides to stay and her step-mother attempts to make conversation with Cassia, the only person who genuinely seems happy to be here is her brother. Eventually Trisha excuses herself, mumbling something about a history paper due on Thursday. Her little brother wanders into Cassia’s room, pulling out the box of toys Brooke made for him the first time he came to visit. Then it’s just Cassia and her step-mother. The silence is like a blanket, stifling the two of them and making Cassia feel trapped. Muffled, like when she got the phone call from the hospital and like the nights she spent wrapped up in Brooke’s sheets, trying desperately to memorize her scent. 

She reaches for her step-mother’s plate, hoping that clearing the table will indicate that Cassia wants her to leave. Instead, the woman grabs her brother’s plate and a glass and carries them into the kitchen. Cassia starts the hot water in the sink and the two of them wash the dishes in silence. 

“Cassia, look, I know we got off to a shaky start and that having your dad remarry so soon must have been hard, but I’m trying. I really am, and if there’s anything I can do…I know loosing Brooke like this…” Cassia’s crying. Big, fat, round tears that betray her silent mask. She wants Brooke back more than anything, she wants her mom back, and she’s too young to be dealing with all this. And none of it’s fair.

And now this woman is hugging her, this woman who Cassia has screamed at, whom Cassia once told was “a vile, hateful bitch” in front of thirty people, and Cassia doesn’t know how it make her feel, this hug. Hug, that’s so much more than a hug. It’s an apology for all the crappy things that have happened to her in the last five years, and it’s a promise that someone is there, that someone cares even though Cassia didn’t expect it. This woman doesn’t owe her anything, in fact, this woman should hate Cassia, but she doesn’t. And she’s holding her like a mother should and Cassia’s really crying now, and the tears aren’t stopping.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you Cassia. I promise you we’ll get through this, ok. Ben and I are going to stay for the next few days and you can come stay with us anytime you need to, okay?” They’re on the kitchen floor, her step-mom’s pants are probably terribly wrinkled, and it isn’t the most comfortable location. But something inside her feels like it might someday be whole again, like she might be ready to finish her book. And maybe, maybe the hero doesn’t have to die at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! So glad I finally finished my Inktober and can't wait for next year! :)  
See you then,   
Lydia Lannister  
p.s. in the mean time, check out some of my other works like my Twelve Days of Christmas and stay tuned for some fanfictions coming soon


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